


Resurrection

by Doceo_Percepto



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: A minimum of three eyes suffering abuse, Alternate Universe - Transcendence, Alternative version of transcendence, Canon Compliant up to Last Mabelcorn, Dipper wanting to nerd with him, Emetophobia, Everyone strugglebussing, Ford being a nerd, Gen, Identity confusion, Self-Harm, Transanimation AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4851857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doceo_Percepto/pseuds/Doceo_Percepto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Transcendence/Transanimation AU. When Ford claims that Bill Cipher can be banished permanently, Dipper is ready to get rid of the demon for good. Too bad neither of them anticipated the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Transanimation

When Ford asserted that Bill Cipher could be banished, _permanently_ , Dipper believed him. 

“There’s no other option,” Ford said solemnly, as the two sat in his private study. “Bill will do anything to get that rift. After dismantling the portal, I began work on a ritual that will prevent him from accessing the mindscape – forever.”

“Even if someone summons him?” Dipper murmured in awe.

“ _Especially_ if someone summons him.”

“How did you figure out something that powerful?” 

“Dipper, I’ve come across plenty of forbidden knowledge in the past thirty years. What matters is that we can now use that knowledge against Bill.” Ford pushed journal 3 towards Dipper, pointing at the open page. On that page was sketched an elaborate circle. Writing, jaggedly scrawled in Latin, formed the outside perimeter; a huge triangle took up the center, with three additional circles enclosed within it. Extra symbols, shapes and blurred Latin words fully adorned the complex design.

Dipper’s jaw dropped. “This is amazing! How did you figure this out? Do we know it works? What exactly does it do? How does it-“

Ford laughed. “I’m certain this will defeat him, if we use it in conjunction with the incantation I have prepared. The circle has three purposes, each which will be utilized systematically.” Shifting his finger over the page to point at different parts of the circle, he recited, “Summon. Bind. Banish.”

“When can we start? What can I do?” asked Dipper; both thrilled to participate in a ritual this impressive, and also itching to get Bill Cipher out of this realm for good. Maybe with Bill Cipher finally gone, Dipper could stop being so terrified of puppets, sleeping, and the demon himself, for starters. 

Ford sighed heavily and pulled the journal back to himself. “Dipper, this is an incredibly dangerous ritual. If it were up to me, I would have no one else involved. I summoned Bill back to this world, and the responsibility is on me to banish him.”

“What? But I can help you!”

“Unfortunately, you will _have_ to help me….”

Ford went on to explain that a minimum of three people was necessary for the ritual to work. Each of the circles outside of the main design were “safety zones” where the summoners must stand in order to remain safe from Bill’s power. Each would have to recite a portion of the ritual on their own. 

Together, Ford and Dipper cleared the basement of any remaining debris from the portal, which Ford had by now entirely deconstructed. Ford took it upon himself to draw the sigils with chalk, but relented and allowed Dipper to draw out his own protective circle (albeit under careful scrutiny). 

“It’s going to be really dangerous,” Dipper disclosed to Mabel later that afternoon. “But, Ford said I could handle it.” Dipper puffed out his chest.

“Woo! I’ll give you moral support! I’ll wear my lucky sweater and everything.”

Dipper did a double take. “What? Mabel, no, you’re gonna stay out of the basement.”

“Out of the basement?” Mabel’s smile faltered.

“It’s too dangerous. Ford didn’t even want me to be a part of it at first. But he needs three people, and –“

Mabel socked Dipper hard in the arm, pulling her most pouty face of all pouty faces ever. “You seriously want to stop me from coming with you?”

“Yes! What if you got hurt?”

“You don’t even know what’s dangerous about it, do you?”

Dipper stuck out his bottom lip. “Of course I know.”

“You don’t knowww,” she sang, poking his cheek.

“F-Fine! Ford didn’t tell me that. But we’re summoning Bill. I don’t need to know beyond that.”

“And I’m gonna stick with you.”

“There’s only three shielding circles, Mabel. For three people.”

“Then I’ll stand in the dumb circle with you. You’re not doing this alone.”

In the end, it was impossible to argue with her. Dipper had to accept his sister was going to be by his side when they summoned Bill Cipher. Honestly, in the deepest part of his heart, he was relieved. Encountering the dream demon again face-to-face was a scary enough concept. Mabel's presence would be very reassuring - even if Dipper wouldn't readily admit that.

Meanwhile, Ford had to fill Stan in about all the details – as well as provide a sketchy and partly inaccurate description of his past with Bill. After all, Stan would have to take part in this ritual as well, no matter how much he might want to avoid the supernatural.

Stan took the news about Bill reasonably well. He almost flipped the table after learning about the whole sock opera incident, yelled at Ford for a solid five minutes for not warning him about Bill, and then heatedly protested the twins’ involvement in banishing Bill. 

But, all things considered, it could have been worse.

Luckily, Ford pointed out that no one else had the same paranormal experience as Dipper and Mabel, and no matter which way they played it, the ritual couldn’t be performed without at least three individuals.

“The sooner we act, the less we have to worry about,” Ford muttered he entered the elevator; Stan, Mabel, and Dipper followed close behind him. “If we wait, there’s a chance Bill will discover our plans and work to take them apart before we can banish him.”

“Still can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this demon crap before, Poindexter,” Stan grumbled.

“The less people that knew, the better off I was,” Ford said firmly. 

“I could have helped you!”

“And now you are.”

They filtered into the basement, where Ford already had the circles and candles set up appropriately.

Ford pushed several sheets of paper into Dipper and Stan’s hands. “I printed out the incantation. Stan and I will speak first; Dipper, follow along and recite the final lines.”

“Whoa, no test run or anything?” Stan said nervously. “This is in a different language!”

Ford shook his head. “It's Latin. If we had the time, I’d teach you the language, or at least let you practice these lines. But the moment we start speaking them, Bill will know what we’re up to. He must be trapped before that. You’ll do fine.”

As he wandered into his protective circle with Mabel, Dipper’s curiosity got the better of him and he studied the page intently. His brow furrowed. Wait a minute… there was something odd about this verbiage. Over his time in Gravity Falls, Dipper had familiarized himself with the Latin language, as it was often used in spells. He did not know enough to speak fluently, but he could certainly recognize a good range of vocabulary. And the words he was seeing on this page….

Mabel touched his arm. “Dipper…?”

The furrow in his brow deepened. “This isn’t a spell to banish Bill.”

“What do you mean?”

“Th-this Latin, this isn’t for banishment.” Dipper wildly slung his glance up and met Ford’s eyes. “This is a spell for killing.”

“K-killing?” Mabel grabbed the sheet and studied it, as if she’d have the experience to know what she was even looking at. 

“Now Dipper,” Ford said solemnly, “There is no other choice. We must end Bill’s dominion over the mindscape.”

“You lied to me,” gasped Dipper. “You said we were just going to banish him, not – not kill him!” 

“This is Bill Cipher we’re talking about. No spell in all of the multiverse can banish him permanently. Nothing but this.”

“This isn’t banishment; it’s murder!”

“Dipper!” Ford’s eyes had fiercely narrowed; his entire body radiated sternness. “Are you with me, or are you not? Don’t forget who Bill Cipher is.”

Dipper gaped, resolve faltering. Then his expression hardened. Bill Cipher wasn’t human. He was a monster, and he had betrayed Dipper, Ford, and who knows how many other people. They had to stop him before he could get his hands on the rift. Before he could betray any more people. If Ford said there was no other way, then there was no other way. 

“I’m with you,” Dipper stated firmly. He would prove he could be useful, even for something as serious as this.

Mabel tugged his sleeve and whispered, “Dipper, we can’t kill someone.” 

“ _Triangulum, entangulum. Vene foris dominus mentium_ –“ Ford began.

“He isn’t someone, Mabel. He’s Bill Cipher.”

“ _Vene foris videntis omnium!_ ”

Mabel opened her mouth to protest, but a flash of blue-white light interrupted her.

“Hey, would you look at that!” Bill’s high-pitched laugh filled the room. “It’s Sixer, Fez, Shooting Star and Pine Tree! Aw, I feel so special; you’re throwing a party just for me! Don’t forget the severed heads; every party needs severed heads!” Radiating a gleeful yellow, Bill kicked up his feet while a storm of severed heads rained down from the ceiling. Mabel and Dipper clutched tightly to each other in horror – but thankfully, the heads did not seem to be able to penetrate through the shielding circle. 

“ _Hunc dominum mentium non mortalem huic loco alligo._ ” Ford rattled off quickly. 

“Wow, that’s cold, Sixer!” All the severed heads disappeared. Bill lifted up his hands and a pair of blue handcuffs materialized around his thin wrists. “Didn’t know you liked it this way!”

“Everything ends today,” Ford snapped out. “We’re going to defeat you, once and for all.”

“Really, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. I’m immortal! This dumb ritual of yours is never going to work!”

“Being immortal just means no one has figured out how to kill you yet,” growled Ford.

“Take it from me,” laughed Bill, “no one ever does!”

Ignoring the jibes, Ford lowered his head and began to read onward. The Latin became a consistent litany in the background, rising and falling with Ford’s voice.

“Very professional!” Bill tilted to the side and investigated the summoning and binding circles. “You sure worked hard on this one. Too bad it won’t work! I’m a being of pure energy with n-“

His loud voice cut off so suddenly that Dipper flinched. Bill's eye twitched.

Ford read onward, undisturbed, head bowed over the paper as if determined to not look at Bill. 

Dipper could understand. From his whole puppet ordeal, he found it pretty hard to be in the same room as Bill without cowering – an instinct he fiercely resisted. 

But Bill’s eye was slowly twisting into a deep red, his fists clenching. Dipper recoiled; Mabel wrapped her arms around him and Dipper felt waves of relief that she’d decided to come with him.

“Crafty, Sixer, real crafty,” Bill spoke again, his voice low and sharp. “Maybe you’re smarter than I gave you credit for. Ohoho… this is gonna be so unpleasant for everyone!”

Bill began whizzing around the summoning circle, examining every sigil, every line, every mark. He let out a whistling sound. “Whoo-eeeh! You’re pretty thorough, IQ!” His eye flicked left and right uneasily. “No way I can make a deal to get outta this, is there? Pine Tree? Shooting Star?”

“Hah, fat chance,” Dipper spat, emboldened by the presence of Mabel at his side. 

“Haha, wow…. This kind of pain is about to be really not fun. You’re making a big, big mistake, Sixer!”

“Threats aren’t going to stop us,” Dipper ground out. 

“Oh, I know nothing will stop you!” Bill laughed harshly. His eye was wide and beginning to tremble. “Wow, this ritual is really starting to- kghhh! Wooww, those words'll leave a mark! Come on IQ, you really wanna do this to me?” 

Ford’s voice faded away, and Stan’s picked up where he had left off. Bill’s distress was visibly compounding. After exhausting his mad rush around the devil’s trap, the dream demon hung in the middle, his body twitching and jolting unnaturally. He had turned to face Ford directly, despite Stan reading now; as if locking onto a target, picking his victim. 

But he said nothing, for once. His eye was jittering in its socket; his fingers clenched and unclenched, his yellow glow wavered and trembled – Dipper tried to not look because when he did all he could think of was some helpless abused animal, tormented into submission. 

Dipper forced himself to stare at the floor. Bill Cipher did not deserve pity. He didn’t deserve sympathy.

Dipper could no longer see, but he certainly could still hear. 

Strangled gasps, choked off as if Bill was trying to hold back the pitiful sounds. They escalated into these tiny pitiful squeaks that – heaven curse him – Dipper cringed at. It was like a kitten crunched beneath a merciless boot.

A demon like Bill shouldn’t be able to make that sound.

What made it worse was that Bill wasn’t playing up the pain, acting like it was so much worse than it was. Just the opposite. He appeared to be making a tremendous effort to not let it show. 

“Stupid Pine Tree,” the demon suddenly spat, and Dipper wrenched his head up, “I’m trying to brace myself for – khhhh.”

His triangular form was outright shuddering, curling into itself, his tiny black hands clutching where ears might have been if he were human. Sickly oozing black cracks appeared in his brick patterning, like chapped skin breaking and bleeding.

The little squeaking whimpers came with an increased frequency, higher and higher pitched, as if he was trying to muffle them but unable to stop them. 

“D-Dipper…” Mabel clutched Dipper’s arm. “I-it’s torturing him, they’re torturing him, we can’t –“

“He’s Bill,” Dipper uttered, but he too was fixed in place, horrified, unsure of what he was saying. Yeah, he was Bill, but… did anyone deserve this?

“M-make it s-stop.” Mabel gripped Dipper’s arm so tightly that it hurt, but Dipper barely noticed.

Mabel was right. It was torture. Not banishment, not even murder, which was bad enough.

Dipper swung his gaze over to Ford, and to his horror found a pleased satisfaction burning in Ford’s eyes. “Stop!” Dipper howled across the room. “Stop, we’re – this isn’t right!”

“Stay where you are!” screamed Ford, fury flashing in his eyes as they flitted to Dipper. “We have no choice! He needs to be killed!”

“…. _in lacum tui sanguine oculo eruto…._ ” continued Stan undisturbed.

Bill erupted into howls possessed by a horrific feat of vocalization; Dipper discerned at least three distinct pitches to his scream. 

His body bent backward and his arms splayed to each side, revealing all the damage in gruesome detail. Globs of black blood dribbled down Bill’s form and splattered to the floor. Dipper recoiled. His single eye was _boiling._

“Dipper! Read!” Stan and Ford were suddenly screeching from the other end of the room, and with a wallop to his gut, Dipper realized it was his turn. The last of the terrible triumvirate, the last to assemble his words against Bill and tear the demon apart.

Faltering, Dipper bowed his head and stared the pages through tears. He found the place but the words struggled to rise to his throat.

“Just finish it Pine Tree!” Bill shrieked, tearing at his own body with his claws. 

His throat opened, then the words were spilling out – but as they poured forth, it felt like something else was slithering down his throat; that something was oozing into his fingertips from the paper, crawling up his arms and snaring around his heart; Dipper staggered, his words faltered. What was happening…? Was this supposed to happen? The longer he read, the worst he felt, until he was barely getting the words out at all, and the sickness was blossoming heavy and dark in his chest; something slimy and thick and wrong and – 

“Read it,” snarled Bill, or something that barely resembled Bill anymore: a blackened rotting mess dripping in the middle of the room, eye torn and freely bleeding. And then his voice was in his head, _readitreaditgetitoverwith_

“Mabel!” Ford screamed from across the room. “He’s trying to possess Dipper as a means to escape!”

Dipper’s expression screwed up in confusion. No, Bill wasn’t trying to do that; he was urging him to read- 

“What do I do?” screeched Mabel. 

“Um – um-“ Ford looked wildly left and right.

“Get out of my brother, you evil triangle!” Wham, her hand smacked over his head. 

Cringing, Dipper flinched away, “Mabel that’s me, don’t –“

“Mabel!” yelled Ford. “Take the pages – you have to finish reading!”

Mabel snatched the papers from Dipper’s lax fingers and scanned to find the right place.

As her faltering lips completed the ritual, Dipper knew something had to have gone wrong. Because at the very last minute, it wasn’t screams he heard from Bill – but laughter.

And then there was nothing.

The wind settled and the basement quieted. Stan and Ford stood, panting, in their respective circles. Mabel stood alone in hers. 

But Dipper... 

Dipper was gone. 

Dipper was not there when Mabel reeled around to confront Ford, nor when she screamed, “What did he do to my brother?” and he wasn’t there when she clutched Ford’s coat and cried and raged and howled, “Bring him back, bring him back right now!”

Dipper missed Stan dragging Mabel away; he missed Ford announcing that the ritual had worked to kill Bill Cipher, but that he did not know what happened to Mabel’s twin.

Dipper missed the following evening, after Mabel had curled up in a crying mess on her bed, when Stan growled in low, merciless tones to his own twin about how much he hated Ford, how much he couldn’t believe that he’d dragged Dipper into the very same dangers Ford so recklessly put himself into. 

Dipper missed Ford promising to bring him back, to figure out what had gone wrong. To rectify everything. Then Ford coming back down to the basement, collapsing, and crying alone. Clutching and hating himself. 

He didn’t see the Shack silent in ways it had not known for thirty years, or Mabel silent in ways she had never known. He didn’t see her standing listlessly at four in the morning, staring out of the kitchen windows at the woods, and wondering if she’d ever see her brother again. 

No, Dipper wasn’t there for any of that. 

But he did wake up, exactly one week later, hovering over the circle that was once made to shield him from Bill Cipher.

He didn’t feel anything. He didn’t remember the week passing.

His eyes simply opened to an empty room, amidst smudged chalk lines and floating dust specks. He couldn’t feel the damp air against his skin, or the concrete beneath his feet; only by glancing down did he realize he wasn’t touching the ground at all.

Two floors up, Mabel heard his scream. 

She rushed to the vending machine, ignoring Stan’s concerned look, and bolted down into the basement.

She saw Dipper, just as she’d always remembered - the mess of brown hair he never brushed, his puzzled brown eyes, his rumpled clothes. He was, also, hovering a few inches above the floor.

But love wasn’t conditional. It wouldn't matter if Dipper had sprouted ten heads or started spewing gibberish. That was her brother, floating there, and it didn’t take her a mere second of thought before she was lunging into his arms and wrapping her own around him. 

“M-Mabel,” Dipper whimpered, hugging her back instinctively. “Wh-what’s happening?”

“You’re back,” Mabel breathed. “I missed you so much, bro-bro - never scare me like that again!"

“I-I’m floating, Mabel – I’m floating, am I dead? Is this what death is like?”

Smiling through tears, Mabel stepped back and said happily, “it doesn’t matter! You’re back!”

“Mabel, what’s happening? What are we gonna do? Wh-what are we gonna tell Stan? Ford? Wendy? Soos?” Dipper paled. “Our parents? Ohhh gosh.” He hunched over and realized that yes, his gag reflex seemed perfectly functional despite the fact he appeared to be dead.

He dry heaved, while Mabel rushed over and patted his back. “Relax Dip-dop! We’ll get it all figured out. You know what matters the most?”

“I’m gonna throw up.”

“Not that, silly. It matters that you’re back, bro-bro.” With that, she gathered him into her arms, weird floating ghost body and all, and pressed her cheek to his. 

In all truth, the sensation of her hugging him was faint. Like breath against his flesh. 

But Mabel was crying. 

Dipper wasn’t sure when it started, but she was crying. She was smiling the happiest smile he’d ever seen on her – which was saying a lot – and crying while she clung to him. 

That’s when Dipper knew he couldn’t dwell on whatever future he was now faced with. That’s when he wrapped his arms around her, unsure if she could really feel him or not, and hugged her tightly back. Because that’s what he did, as the little brother. Even if only by five minutes. He looked after Mabel.

“I’m really happy you’re back,” Mabel whispered against his shoulder.

“I’d never leave you,” Dipper said, and knew it was the truth. They were the Mystery Twins. They were inseparable. There was not one without the other.

“Hey Dipper, guess what?” Mabel said, pulling away and wiping at her eyes.

“What?”

“Sympathy!” She yelled and tapped the top of his head before bolting in the other direction.

“Hey!” Dipper zoomed after her. “You can’t just give me sympathy like that!”

“I’ll give you all the sympathy I want!” Laughing maniacally, Mabel raced around the lab wildly, scattering papers and books in the process. 

Now, Dipper simply flew right through all the obstacles and slapped his hand over her head. “Sympathy you!”

“Nooo!” Mabel howled. “I’ll give you more sympathy!” She reeled around and began patting his head repeatedly, chanting, “sympathy, sympathy, sympathy!”

“Oh, you got me,” chuckled Dipper, and the two degenerated into a giggling mess of the floor, somewhere between wrestling and excessive head-patting.

“Mabel?” a very careful voice suddenly interrupted. 

The twins froze.

Stan stood in the doorway, his head tilted to the side, his eyes beyond wary. “Mabel, what are you doing?”

Mabel sat up, confused. “Can’t you see him?”

“See who?” Stan’s tone made it exceedingly clear what he thought of her mental state at the moment.

“Well Dipper, duh!” Mabel gestured to her left, where Dipper hovered a few inches above the floor, terrified. He was staring straight at Stan and his Grunkle didn’t see him. 

Stan’s eyes shifted slightly to Dipper’s left, then back to Mabel. “Mabel, sweetie, Dipper is….” But he couldn’t finish. 

“Well, we thought he might be, but it turns out –“ Mabel paused. “Well okay, maybe he did. But he’s a ghost now! Really!”

“I don’t understand,” Dipper said, “why can you see me, but Stan can’t?”

“Maybe it’s a weird twin thing,” Mabel shrugged.

Stan frowned. “Are you speaking to him right now?”

“Yeah! It’s rude to ignore people!”

“Mabel…” Stan looked so utterly broken and lost. “Your brother’s gone.”

“No, he’s not!”

Stan shuddered. “Look kid, how about we just get you into bed?”

“No Grunkle Stan, I’m serious! He’s really here!”

Stan covered his face with his hand. “Don’t. Just… don’t. Bed. Now.”

Mabel wilted on the spot. “B-But, Grunkle-“

“Now, Mabel!”

Huffing, Mabel turned and stormed up the stairs.

“He’s just worried,” Dipper tried to convince Mabel as she brushed her hair furiously. “He’s probably not ready to hear it yet.”

“I don’t care,” Mabel sniffled, yanking out a clump of hair accidentally. “I thought he would trust me.”

“Ford’ll come back and convince him." Dipper frowned. "Mabel, where is Ford?"

"He's constantly coming and going now. He was leaving for the forest last time I saw him."

"Huh. Well, when he comes back, he'll convince Stan. He might even find a way to make me visible!”

“You really think so?” 

“Of course! Ford will work everything out.”

Mabel finished brushing her hair and then curled up in bed glumly. “Do you think Ford could find a way to bring you back?”

“I… I don’t think ghosts work that way.” Dipper surveyed his own hands thoughtfully. He could see Mabel and their bedroom through his hands. Hovering, transparency… 

_Without a vessel to possess, you’re basically a ghost!_

He shuddered at the memory. Now he knew what it was like to be a ghost. 

That night, Dipper learned that ghosts don’t sleep. 

It’s not something he’d ever thought about – what it was like, to be dead. Sure, he may have predicted no eating, because no corporeal body. But sleeping…. That seemed like such an integral, unavoidable part of being not just human but….

Well, alive, he guessed. 

That night, he wished Mabel a good night, and drifted over to his own bed, only to belatedly realized that he didn’t feel exhausted. He felt… wired, if anything. Like impatient electricity was crackling along his invisible veins rather than blood; like flesh had been replaced by pure energy.

_I’m a being of pure energy with no weakness!_

Dipper shuddered at the echoed words. 

Bill must never have slept either, being a dream demon. 

Dipper stared at his bed. He remembered the soft feel of sheets as he snuggled up into them. He remembered the gentle spring of his mattress, and the cool side of his pillow just after flipping it. 

He splayed his fingers over the hand on the journal. Reading the journal would give him some sense of normalcy in this mess. Some solace. 

But reading the journal was out of his reach, too. He could touch or move nothing in the corporeal world. 

And…. As a ghost, he lived essentially forever, didn’t he? An eternity, of this…

Dipper’s brow furrowed. Some ghosts had been able to manipulate objects – particularly those malicious. Yet he couldn’t. Maybe he was a low-ranking ghost. 

Glumly, Dipper hovered over his bed and prepared himself for a long, long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the premise is over with, I can write the fun stuff!
> 
> Not sure if this idea has been done before - if so, I apologize for inadvertent copying. This is Transcendence, as I initially thought it would be.
> 
> I have so much fun with the Latin here. It’s either very literal to a humorous extent, or translated song lyrics that may not at all relate to anything happening at the time. Don't stick it in google translate. This ain't google translate Latin. 
> 
> “Hunc dominum mentium non mortalem huic loco alligo.” I bind this immortal master of the mind to this place"
> 
> “….in lacum tui sanguine oculo eruto….” - ... in a pool of your blood with your eye gouged out..."
> 
> In other news, if anyone needs help or wants anything translated into Latin, please message me! Free translation service here! I've been studying the language for 7 years now and am happy it can finally be used for something. I'm not perfect, but I'm sure better than google translate.


	2. Life as a Dream Demon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I accidentally finished this chapter early.
> 
> Figured I better clarify **continuity/time shenanigans:** This takes place after the Last Mabelcorn, with two major changes: Gideon did not summon Bill at the end of the Stanchurian Candidate, and the Mystery Shack has not been Bill-proofed (maybe Mabel's quest failed, or the unicorn hair didn't work, or Ford simply decided killing Bill for good was a better, safer option).
> 
> Dipper still knows Ford's history with Bill. Oh, and Ford's 'private study' is really not so private; in this story, Stan knows about it – he just avoids it like the plague because he doesn't want anything to do with the supernatural.

"Mabel Mabel Mabel-"

"Whoa Dip, I haven't even had a single shot of Mabel juice yet!"

It was early in the morning, with sunlight barely beginning to filter through their triangular window, but Dipper just couldn't wait any more. "I've been thinking, Mabel, about the whole ghost thing. Ghosts always have a reason for hanging around. So maybe there's a specific reason I'm here! Maybe there's something really important I need to do!"

Mabel was oddly quiet.

"Mabel, you gotta help me figure out what it is! We defeated Bill, but there must be something else unfinished. Some reason that –"

"Shut up."

Dipper froze. _What?_ Mabel _never_ spoke to him like that. Why would she -?

Mabel lifted her head; Dipper gaped when he saw her expression was contorted with unhappiness, and her little fists were clenched in rage.

"M-Mabel-?"

"Don't be that stupid, Dipper!"

"St-stupid?"

"You're here because you weren't supposed to die!" she yelled. "You're my twin brother and you're not supposed to – we're only twelve, bro-bro. You weren't supposed to die." Then all the anger leaves her. "Don't ever talk like that doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry Mabel," he said softly. "I wasn't thinking. I was just… I wanted to figure this out."

"I'll forgive you," Mabel admitted reluctantly, "but only if you'll watch _Crazy Hot Super Teen Musical_ with me!"

"What! Mabel, isn't that the nine hour trilogy that you-"

"Yup! Nine hours of beautiful brightly dressed men singing and dancing about love… and the complexities of teen romance!"

Dipper groaned. Before he could answer, the doorknob clicked behind him; turning, Dipper saw Stan peer his head into the room.

"O-oh…." Mabel pulled away from Dipper. "H-hi Grunkle Stan."

Clearing his throat, Stan entered the room. "You uh, talking to Dipper there?" he said carefully.

Mabel nodded, avoiding his eyes.

Stan exhaled and lowered his head. "Look kid, I'm not good at this whole emotional thing. But what you said last night got me thinking. Gravity Falls is full of ghosts and zombies and other stuff you kids really shouldn't be messing with. But, if you're seeing Dipper then…" Stan tossed up his hands. "Then heck kid, it's probably more paranormal crap. I'm sorry for not believing you."

"You believe me now!" Mabel pumped her fist in the air. "Yes, Mabel's trustworthiness wins again!"

"Hate to say it," Stan grunted, "but my dumb brother can probably make more sense of it."

"Hear that, Dip-dop? Maybe now we can try to get Stan to see you!"

"Yeah," Stan agreed, "the sooner he's back to normal, the sooner he can get back to working shifts!"

"Hey!" Dipper crossed his arms. "I think dying should make me exempt from chores."

Mabel giggled, and Stan narrowed his eyes. "Is he sassing me?"

"Maaaybe."

"Don't sass me boy!" Stan shook his fist in the air. "I can still whoop your butt!"

"My butt is pretty transparent actually," Dipper remarked.

Not hearing him, Stan continued, "anyway, kids. I've got some Stancakes ready downstairs. Way better than normal pancakes!"

"Wooo, Stancakes!" Mabel leapt out of the room and raced down the stairs; Dipper followed much more reluctantly.

"Mabel, I'm not sure Stancakes are actually edible."

"Psh, that's what people said about glitter!"

"I… I think people were right about that."

"Whaaat? I'm proof that's not true!" Mabel hopped onto a kitchen chair and happily served herself an enormous pile of stancakes.

"Mabel, there's no way you're gonna eat that much."

"Well, they're for you too!" Mabel impaled a piece of pancake onto her fork and tried to stick it into Dipper mouth. "Eat up!" The fork and pancake both phased through Dipper's face.

"I don't think this works," Dipper said as Mabel spoke,

"You're just not trying hard enough."

"I literally don't even know how I'm supposed to be trying."

"Just like, chew more. Or something."

"This is stupid."

"Aw, cmon!" She poked the fork through his cheek as Dipper turned his face away. "I think I'm starting to feel some resistance!"

"Well, I don't feel anything." Dipper motioned to push Mabel's arm away, only to phase right through her. He scowled. Right. He didn't feel anything at all.

"Mabel, stop trying to feed pancakes to your intangible brother," Stan grumbled as he trudged into the room.

"But Grunkle, he needs his proper nutrition!"

"I really don't think I do," Dipper protested at the same time Stan said, "ghosts don't eat."

At that moment, Ford came trudging into the room, poring over an aged scroll with a pensive look. Sticks and leaves were sticking up from his hair - evidently without his notice. It was clear he hadn't spent the night in the Shack. By the state of his hair and the mud on his cloak, there was a really legitimate possibility he'd spent it in the woods.

Without acknowledging Stan or Mabel, Ford yanked out a chair and collapsed into it, nabbing a pancake and shoving it in his mouth in the process. His tired eyes never once looked away from the scroll.

"Grunkle Ford!" Mabel leapt up excitedly. "Guess what! Or y'know, guess who!"

"Not now, Mabel. I may be on the brink of a very important breakthrough concerning your brother."

"No, it's about Dipper!"

Ford made a noncommittal noise proving he hadn't really listened to her words.

"Foo—oordd. Dipper's right here! He's a ghost!"

Ford's eyes froze on the page he was reading. Then, slowly, they rotated up to meet Mabel's.

"It's true!" Mabel squealed happily. "His dorky butt is floating like, right over that other chair."

Ford jerked out of his seat. In a second flat, he had a gun unsheathed from his hip and aimed directly to where Mabel had pointed.

"Whoa whoa!" Stan cried out, while Mabel screamed and threw herself in front of Dipper.

"Don't shoot! Grunkle Ford, what are you _doing_?"

"Mabel, tell me now – is he surrounded by blue fire? Are his eyes yellow? Is he speaking in tongues?"

"No, no and no! Grunkle! He's just Dipper, I mean it! You're scaring him."

Visibly shaking, Ford lowered the gun. "He isn't glowing yellow?"

"No! He's just Dipper!"

Ford quietly holstered the gun, a pained look in his eyes. "I'm very sorry for that, Dipper. Necessary precautions."

"Don't you dare think about bringing in a ladder next," Stan growled to Ford.

"Why was he worried about blue fire? Yellow eyes?" Dipper said uneasily, memories from a certain sock opera incident way too close in mind.

"Mabel, this is very important." Ford got on one knee and rested a hand on Mabel's shoulder. "Can you tell me everything Dipper remembers since the ritual?"

Dipper explained – and Mabel translated – that he had no recollection of the past week whatsoever. During the ritual, Bill had attempted to possess him, just as they had seen. Dipper haltingly described the pain from Bill's assault, the laughter he heard, and then waking up one week later in the basement.

Ford frowned and rubbed his chin, staring intently to Dipper's left. "Most strange…. Perhaps category one, or category two... But no corporeal remains, which suggests…"

"Soooo," Mabel slunk up to Ford. "What do we gotta do to put Dipper back to normal?"

"If it's possible," Dipper said, while Ford tapped his lips wordlessly.

"Hey Poindexter, can you stop looking at this kid like he's an experiment?" muttered Stan.

Ford pulled out the journal and studied a page. "From here on, Dipper is an experiment. His condition is unprecedented. I've never seen anything like it. We must learn everything we can." He snapped the journal shut. Digging a tiny spoon out from one of his many pockets, Ford held it out. "Dipper, try your hardest to pick this up."

Obligingly, Dipper drifted closer and wrapped both his hands around the spoon. But no matter how hard he concentrated, or what he did, the spoon wouldn't even move an inch – he kept phasing right through it.

Mabel giggled. "Grunkle Ford, he's just pulling his frustrated Dipper face. I don't think he can pick up anything like that."

"He doesn't have any ideas on how this happened, does he?" Dipper sighed, giving up on the spoon.

Mabel echoed this to Ford, whose brow furrowed deeply. "A few, but nothing certain yet. Both of you, come along. Mabel, it's time I show you my private study. There are some tools there that may help us make sense of this. No doubt Dipper will want you nearby."

"What?" Stan threw up his hands. "I went through all the effort to make stancakes! And now you're just leaving?"

"Sorry Grunkle Stan!" Mabel called as they tread out of the kitchen.

Stan shook his head and piled a bunch of stancakes onto his plate. "Well." He sighed, "at least I know Mabel's not crazy."

Meanwhile, Mabel, Dipper and Ford were piling into Ford's study.

"Wow…" Mabel swung her gaze around at the walls, plastered with black fabric and post-it notes; mathematical projections and physics graphs. "This is like the ultimate lair of nerds," Mabel giggled. "What's that big computer do?"

Ford broke in quickly, "that's not important. Now, tell Dipper to stand over here. I have a few tests to run."

"Oh, um…." Mabel glanced uneasily to the doorway.

Dipper had not entered the room. In fact, he had barely left the elevator. Not for a lack of trying.

"Grunkle Ford, I don't think Dipper can get into this room."

Without looking up, Ford asked, "Did we leave him on ground floor? Some entities are restricted to-"

"No – there's – he says there's a barrier or something. He's stuck just above the carpet."

"Just above the-?" Ford turned and staggered back, his eyes immediately latching onto Dipper. "Oh, no…." he whispered. "It's what I feared…"

"Wait, what?" Dipper stopped his attempts to proceed into the room and froze in place. "Th-that doesn't sound good. Mabel? Mabel what does he mean by that?"

"I can hear you," Ford breathed, astonished.

"Huh? W-well that's new but I guess it makes it easier…"

"No!" Ford said sharply, "I can see and hear you. You're tangible!"

"What? Why now? Why not before?"

Ford took a sharp breath. Quietly, he stepped to the elevator and grabbed the carpet just at the threshold. Dragging it away, a single pentagram trapped in a circle was revealed, beneath Dipper's floating feet.

"That looks like what we trapped Bill in," Mabel said uneasily.

"It is. This is a binding circle, Mabel – it is a highly advanced seal for ensnaring demons. Cipher was powerful enough to escape them, but having them here was… comforting."

"But… I don't understand. Why's Dipper trapped?"

Ford rubbed at his eyes beneath his glasses. "This isn't good."

"You're scaring him."

"I'm not scared."

Ford shook his head. "It's my belief that Bill Cipher attempted to possess Dipper in order to prevent the incantations. When Mabel completed the ritual on her own, Bill was killed while merging his consciousness with Dipper's. As a result, Dipper has now picked up some of Bill's demonic attributes. I will need to study this further to be certain."

"Eeeww…" Dipper looked at his hands in horror. "I have bits of Bill's mind in me?"

"Yeah, that's not fair!" Mabel whined. "Now Dipper can like, totally cheat at all the games we play. 'Don't Wake Stalin' is no fun if Dipper can control the spinner with his mind!"

"You two need to take this far more seriously," Ford said gravely. "I've been studying the supernatural for over four decades, and I've never heard of a comparable phenomena. There may be side-effects, consequences!"

"This is informative and all, but can someone please let me out of this trap?"

"Right." Ford stepped over and smudged the edge of the circle, allowing Dipper to float out – instantly becoming invisible to Ford again.

"Dipper, this invisibility thing is like totally cool. You can smuggle Smile Dip for me!"

"That's stealing. And no, you don't need any more Smile Dip. Ever. Again." Dipper shuddered.

"Psshh! No one really _needs_ air but we all breathe it anyway! I'm so ready to breathe Smile Dip."

"There is so much wrong with what you just said."

"Let's focus here," Ford cut in, flitting through his journal to find a clean page.

"I'm just saying," Mabel said matter-of-factly, "being part demon has its benefits!"

"So you're not at all worried about, uh, this?" Dipper waved at himself.

"What? Worried? Dipper, you're still you."

"Just with a lot of extra weirdness." About which he was too terrified to explore at the moment.

"Ye-eah, which makes you like twenty percent cooler." Mabel poked his cheek and giggled when her finger went right through his face. "C'mon Dipper, relax! You're still my little brother, and that's all that matters to me!"

"Five minutes, _five_ minutes."

"That's basically like five years. Whop whop!"

Chuckling, Dipper swatted at her hands. "All right, all right."

"Kids, focus!" Ford barked sternly, making both Dipper and Mabel start and then hang their heads.

The remainder of time in Ford's study passed rather uneventfully. Ford rattled off several demands for Dipper, including "can you read my mind?" and other such similar things; Dipper managed to fail at every task given to him, and Ford seemed more puzzled at the end of the session than he had at the start. It seemed that those 'attributes' he claimed Dipper might have inherited were absent – all except the ability to get stuck in binding circles, which didn't really strike Dipper as all that great.

Nonetheless, Ford took down many notes on Dipper (which, infuriatingly, he wouldn't share).

After the tedium of commands, Ford wanted to take measurements for Dipper's head – at which a very bored Mabel rescued him by claiming he needed a break because he was an awkward, sweaty boy. Ford was bewildered enough to let Dipper go.

"Grunkle Ford totally missed the most important question," Mabel grouched as they walked out of the study.

"Why I got only the most inconvenient traits from Bill?"

"No! Whether or not you can wear my sweaters."

"Mabel, that's –"

"Dipper, it is an incredibly important thing to learn. I don't know if we can be friends if you can't physically wear one of my sweaters."

Dipper rolled his eyes. "You know we'll be like, the closest people ever, no matter what."

"Yeaaaah, but it sounds dramatic. I'll start sewing you one right away. I've been working on a new idea with sweaters, actually!"

"A new idea?"

"Yeah! I want to see if I can mix glitter into the yarn so my sweaters will be extra-special and full of double the love! _Double the love, Dipper_."

"Yikes."

"You're right! It is great! I'm great!"

As they passed the living room, Stan came walking out. "What did Ford say, Dipper?"

"We've got it aaaall figured out," Mabel said happily. "Dipper's pretty much part dream demon now, so we'll make a binding circle thingy around the entire Mystery Shack. That way, we can all see Dipper. Then, whenever he has to go outside the Shack, we'll break the circle and he can tag around with me! Eventually, we'll make a binding circle around all of Gravity Falls!"

"We haven't worked out that part yet," Dipper inputted habitually, despite no one but Mabel being able to hear him.

Stan grunted. "Dream demon, huh? I knew that ritual was going to go sour. Now my dumb brother's gotten you into this mess, Dipper..." Stan shook his head.

"I don't think he planned-" Dipper started.

"Aw come on," Mabel interjected. "Grunkle Ford was just trying to look out for his family!"

"Yeah, he's got funny ways of doing that," grumbled Stan. "Kids, I don't know what I'm gonna tell your parents. They wanted me to look after you both, and now one of you is a demon!"

"Stan," Mabel said firmly, striding over and resting a hand on Stan's arm. "I've got it totally, 100% covered. Lie and tell them that nothing went wrong at all!"

"Lying and avoiding problems? Perfect!" Stan ruffled Mabel's hair. "I've never been so certain that you're my grand-niece. I'm so proud, Mabel." He wiped away a small tear.

"Huh," Dipper mused, "now that I think about it, Stan's not really a good influence, is he?"

"Psh, don't worry about it Dip-dop! Stan is a great influence."

"Yeah, kiddo!" Stan seconded loudly, "I'm a great grunkle! Now, who wants to set up spikes on the highway so travelers have to come in and shop here?"


	3. A Deal and a Devil's Trap

"Aaaaaand done!" Mabel threw up her hands happily as the final stroke in the binding circle was completed. The spray paint can flew out of her grip, struck the ceiling, and exploded blue paint all over fridge and wall. "Oops. That was totally not intentional."

"I don't feel any different," Dipper said thoughtfully.

"Bro-bro, you didn't feel any different trapped in Ford's binding circle either, did you?"

"Let's not say 'trapped.'" Dipper cringed. The word sat with him wrong. He didn't want the confining feeling of being trapped inside anything.

It was becoming late afternoon, and Mabel and Dipper had spent the last hour perfecting the geometry of the binding circle that was an impressive work of math and artistry, encompassing the entire mystery shack both inside and outside, with all the proper dimensions to make it effective. Dipper, of course, had done all the calculations (with a little help from Ford…. Okay, a lot of help), while Mabel provided emotional support (and suggested they make the circle out of glitter, a motion quickly vetoed by Dipper and Ford).

With the binding circle complete, Dipper should be able to be seen by everyone else in the Shack, and also (Ford theorized) have some ability to interact with the world. Additionally, it meant he couldn't leave the Mystery Shack – Dipper didn't like to dwell on that particular part of the matter.

"D'you think Stan will be mad we spray painted the floors?" Dipper asked.

"Not as mad as he'll be about the spray-painted fridge," Mabel answered cheerfully. "Or about the cash register. Or his door."

"Mabel, we didn't spray paint those things."

"That's what YOU think! Hehee, I just had to give them some artistic flair!"

"Oh jeez, like that time you bedazzled the entire living r-"

"'Sup hambone?" A very familiar gopher-like manchild wandered into the kitchen. He surveyed the blue fridge. "Nice decorations. I like it."

"Soos!" Dipper exclaimed, realizing that the handyman, much like Dipper's family, must have believed him dead for the past week.

"Dipper!" Soos yelled in return, then laughed. "Haha, did I do it right? What are we doing here?"

"Seriously?"

Soos rubbed his chin. "Huh. Dipper, I gotta be honest. I feel like I'm forgetting something."

Dipper spread his arms wide. "You're not shocked that I'm floating? Or yknow, here at all?"

"Nah, it wasn't that… oh! Haha, totally remembered now like zap! Here, dude." Digging into his back pocket, Soos pulled out a cassette tape with "BABBA" written on it in pink lettering.

"Uh…..?" Dipper reached out and accepted the tape. "Soos, why are you…? I, uh – I don't like this band! And uh – why are you giving this to me?"

Soos laughed. "Dude, you're more forgetful than me! Few days ago, Past You told me to give this to Future You. Like, whenever we met in the kitchen. You, me, kitchen, bam, gift. Did I mess up? Oh man, what if Past You said the gift shop, not the kitchen?"

"Soos, 'a few days ago' I wasn't even anywhere." Maybe orbiting a planet as a dust speck in another freakin' dimension, but Dipper sure as heck wasn't at the Mystery Shack to convey some message to Soos.

"Spooky," whispered Mabel.

Soos appeared to realize the same thing. "Huh. Guess that's right. Haha. I dunno, man. Might've dreamt that. Well, my job is done! Soos, out!" He backed out of the room.

Dipper stared down at the tape. Beyond simply being a tape for BABBA, it looked weirdly familiar, but he couldn't quite place how or why. Slowly, Dipper said, "Mabel, do you think Soos knows more than he lets on?"

"Sure, Dipper. He's like, secretly a total pro at hamster racing."

"That… is not at all what I meant."

"Hey, Dipper?" Mabel touched his shoulder imploringly. "Mind if I go call Candy, Grenda, and Pacifica? I need to scream incoherently in their ears to show them how excited I am that you're back. But I don't want you to feel lonely or anything! I'm totally here for you if you don't want me to go!"

Dipper laughed and pocketed the cassette tape. "Relax, Mabel. You can call your friends. Wait, _Pacifica_?"

But Mabel was already bolting out of the room, squealing, "Kaythankslaterbyeee!"

"Huh." Dipper never thought he'd see the day where Mabel called Pacifica a friend. Who knew, maybe things had changed after Dipper took care of the ghost at Pacifica's mansion? Or… maybe while he spent the week AWOL? Dipper cringed.

Of course Mabel was so concerned for him… She'd literally spent an entire week uncertain if she'd ever see her brother again. That was a kind of torture that Dipper couldn't imagine.

He was struck with a sudden desire to go find Mabel and tell her how much he cared about her – or something equally cheesy and awkward, but equally important to say – but decided in the end to leave her be. She was probably already –

"EEEIIII!" Mabel's shriek of excitement traveled down from the attic and into the kitchen. Yup, there she went.

Chuckling to himself, Dipper drifted over to the spray painted fridge and placed his palm on the surface.

A furrow formed in his brow.

Just as with the cassette tape Soos handed him, Dipper could both feel – and yet not feel – the surface of the fridge.

He went to open the fridge, and his hand initially phased right through it. When he tried a second time, focusing hard, he was able to open the door – but he could barely feel the pressure of the handle on his palm. It appeared that the binding circle did enable him to interact with objects, but only by focusing carefully – and even then, he wasn't totally able to feel them.

"Weird…" Dipper muttered. It was like wearing several layers of bubble wrap around his fist or something. The sensation – or lack thereof – was unnerving.

"Hot Belgian Waffles! What did you do to my kitchen?!"

Dipper shrieked and whirled around. "Grunkle Stan! Uhm, we uh- Mabel-"

"I'm just messing with you kid! You'll clean it up later."

"Wait, I will?" Dipper eyed the splatter of spray paint that had ruined the fridge.

Stan laughed. "'Course you will! Kid, it's good to see you back." Stan brushed past Dipper to get a Pitt Cola, and ruffled his hair. "It's not the same without your squeaky voice."

"Uh, thanks, I guess?"

"Hm." Stan shut the fridge door and sipped a Pitt Cola, studying Dipper thoughtfully. "You know, I could make money out of this levitating thing you got going on."

Life at the shack couldn't quite be called the same. Granted, some things never changed. Mabel was as glitter-obsessed as ever, and Stan would always be that affectionate conman he was meant to be. Soos went about fixing things as usual, and Wendy viewed his new half demon status as 'cool.' Nearly everyone had adjusted rapidly to Dipper's new state, making him feel as normal as possible, given the situation.

Dipper gradually got accustomed to never really standing on the floor, or sitting in chairs, but instead hovering an inch or so above both surfaces. He still hadn't figured out how to walk normally without his feet slipping through the floor, so he levitated everywhere.

Stan swiftly added Dipper to his array of tourist attractions – Dipper was 'promoted' from "Wolf Boy" to "Demon Boy," and only had to float aimlessly in front of tourists who snapped endless photos.

Mabel treated him precisely the same, except for maybe being a teensy bit more possessive. She constantly wanted to make sure Dipper was happy, and comfortable, and that neither Stan nor Ford were making him self-conscious about his 'situation.' Conversely, she also was a pain sometimes.

She liked to send him to get different things for her ("the _fuchsia_ yarn, Dipper, not the _magenta_. Yes, that's an important difference! Go get the fuchsia! FUCHSIA!") under the admittedly correct assumption that it was much easier for him to do than her (he could just phase right through walls, after all).

Ford had, to Dipper's great disappointment, taken to disappearing into the basement for hours or days at a time, without a single word about how his research was progressing. What's worse, Ford wouldn't let Dipper help beyond what was ordered of him - sometimes Ford demanded Dipper come down to the study, only to give weird commands like "try to make fire" or "can you pick this book up using only your mind?" So far, Dipper hadn't been able to do anything asked of him. After such sessions, Ford dismissed Dipper like he was nothing but a test subject, and then withdrew into his researching again.

Frankly, Dipper was sick of the whole thing. Ford had become the same recluse he was when he first emerged from the portal, and Dipper felt cheated that his budding friendship with the author was stunted again.

Most of him blamed Bill Cipher whole-heartedly: if the dumb demon hadn't wanted to merge the Nightmare Realm with reality, or if he hadn't tried to interfere with their family, or if he hadn't just been well – a demon! – then none of this would have happened. Dipper could have gone on and enjoyed his summer the way he was supposed to: solving mysteries and adventuring… all within the safe confines of _being human._

Another part of him blamed himself. Maybe he was just a boring little kid to Ford, and Ford was only nice to him because he was family and he didn't want to hurt Dipper's feelings. That could be a possibility, right? And now Ford was just using this opportunity to distance himself from Dipper – it was a convenient way to sever off their friendship before Stan's brother was expected to spend too much time with a little kid like Dipper.

A very very small, niggling part of Dipper blamed Ford himself. Ford had created the ritual that backfired. Ford was isolating himself. Ford was the one who couldn't bother to hang out with the only family he'd ever had. Didn't that make this all Ford's fault?

Dipper kept those latter thoughts very hidden.

All in all, if he didn't dwell too much on Ford or on his half-demon status, Dipper had good days not too different from before the whole Bill Cipher ritual.

Nights, though….

He couldn't pretend to be normal at night.

As evening faded into dark, everything around the Shack slowly went quiet, like a lantern snuffed out. Mabel wished him good night and curled up in her sheets, smiling softly. Stan could be heard clanking and clattering downstairs, followed by the hum of the TV.

Dipper could never hear Ford, not unless he tried really hard – and then he'd heard the scratching of a pen, muffled muttering, curses…. Paper crumpling.

Dipper didn't need to leave Mabel's side to hear these things. If he wanted, he could hear the crack of Stan's back, the groan of his chair, the little staticky sound always crooning underneath the television voices. He could hear the rustle of leaves outside, tiny feet pattering, voices whispering.

Dipper could hear a great deal of things, if he thought about it. But he didn't think about it. He confined his hearing to his room. His and Mabel's room. It was her steady, gentle breaths that he listened to, giving him some semblance of normalcy.

Like at any minute, he'd curl up on his bed and drift off to sleep again.

But he knew the reality. He wouldn't ever sleep again.

Night after night, he hovered listlessly by Mabel's side. While the slow clock minute by minute marked down his purgatory, he'd wait, float, drift, tremble; heart racing, fearing what he was, gazing out the window at blackness and dreading that this was forever.

Then, on one such night, thirteen minutes after two (Dipper knew this, despite not looking at the clock), something changed. He felt something. This was new. He didn't feel things. Not anymore. He could manipulate objects – pick them up, handle them – but he couldn't _feel._

Not until now.

What he felt was a clench in his chest. Something slimy and unpleasant, like an ice cream scooper gouging under his ribs. Gasping, Dipper clutched his chest.

What was that?

It tugged again – yes, that's what it was. A tug. A yank. A command. Something chaining him, dragging him, but not forward, not -

Then he blinked and he wasn't in his room.

No, in fact, he was in the basement. A basement. Someone's basement.

"It worked." The middle-aged man staring wide-eyed at Dipper covered his mouth. "It really worked! Bill Cipher, you're…" he frowned. "You're not what I imagined."

"Who are you?" blurted Dipper.

The man bowed his head and got onto his knees. "M-my name is Roger. I-I have suh-summoned you, oh great Bill Cipher, for an exchange. I will offer anything. Anything, please. But my wife is sick and –"

"Ohhh, no…." Because Dipper just realized what had happened, and bile was rising up his throat.

"The doctors say they can do nothing; I've looked everywhere, everywhere, through every twisted book and wretched cult, and…." The man shuddered, on the verge of tears. "Please, oh merciful Bill Cipher. Cure my wife. I will offer anything."

Dipper spun around and promptly threw up.

Now, vomiting wasn't something he was aware he could do. He hadn't eaten in about two weeks anyway, but evidently, he could indeed throw up.

Dipper stared in horror at the disgusting grey liquid now casually sidling to the left.

Roger had gotten to his feet and looked just as bewildered as Dipper. "C-Cipher?"

"My name's Pines. No - I-I mean, Bill Pines. I mean, Dipper Ci- Dipper Pine Tree. Pines. Urgh, just - you've got the wrong person!"

Roger took a step back. There was fear in his eyes. "You're insane."

"No! No, I'm not, I'm…" Dipper raked his hands through his hair. Someone had actually summoned him. Someone had summoned him. This was so much weirder and wronger than the levitating or the binding circles. This was way too messed up.

"S-so…" Quivering, Roger averted his eyes. "Did I do the summoning correctly? Will you make a deal with me?"

"No. _No._ No! I'm not – not making any deals, or…"

But Dipper cut off. Roger's face had contorted into the most agonized of looks. His graying hair fell over his wrinkled face as he collapsed to his knees again – the man had to be close in age to Stan, maybe a little younger. "Please, Cipher. I'll give you anything. Just save my wife."

"Your – your wife?"

"Y-yes." Hope bloomed in his gaze. "Sh-she was diagnosed with skin cancer, but by the time the doctors noticed it, it – it…" a horrified shudder rippled through the man. "She's in the hospital now. It's spread to her lymph nodes and organs. She – she doesn't have long. Please."

Oh jeez. Dipper was so unequipped to deal with this situation. "I don't make deals," he whispered softly.

"This once," Roger begged. "Anything."

The man had a good cause, sure, but…. Dipper didn't even know if he could do this. Cure cancer? That was astounding. Impossible. There was no way. To begin with, he wasn't even sure of his ability to escape this summoning circle. "I don't know if I can do this," Dipper said honestly, not sure if he meant the whole curing cancer thing, or the deal altogether.

"But you're the all-powerful Bill Cipher. If you can't do it….."

But he wasn't. He really wasn't Bill Cipher. Furthermore, he didn't have any of Bill's attributes aside from the very inconvenient ones.

This man looked so far gone, though. So close to the brink of despair. Gazing around the basement, Dipper saw a desk overflowing with blueprints and half-assembled building models. Roger was an architect, or an engineer, maybe. He wore a fine collar shirt with stained sleeves and an open collar; professor's brown pants, and his hair must once have been styled in a professional, practical cut.

Suddenly, Dipper knew a lot about him.

Roger did not have a god. When he was six, Roger's father took to both booze and abuse. When he was eight, Roger crawled to a church begging for forgiveness for whatever sins must have brought his father's anger upon him. God did not answer.

At twelve, Roger decided to study neuroscience. He wanted to fix people whose demons were not self-inflicted, who suffered mental illnesses that had no cure or treatment.

At sixteen, he left his broken home, and picked up cheap employment where he could.

Then there was his undergrad years; sleepless, stressful, disastrous, work at night, study during the day - but study and work were reprieves from memory.

It was his last year of graduate school when he met Angela.

Angela, and her presentation on interferon beta 1a, and her quiet demeanor that could it one moment leap into a flurry of excited chatter whenever she spoke of her research... Her hair was never combed, her blue eyes were always too busy to linger long on one spot, and when a conference brought the two together, she talked about her work with a passion he had never glimpsed in anyone but himself.

Thus bloomed a remarkable professional relationship that eased into -

Dipper reeled back, gagging, suddenly flooded with the entire lifespan of this man, from that abuse in his childhood, to his eventual happy and fulfilling adulthood with the woman of his dreams, who now lay sickly and dying on a hospital bed.

He wanted to throw up again. _How did I know all that?_

"Cipher?" Roger said tentatively. "Are you… are you okay?"

Dipper gripped his chest. "J-Just give me a moment. New to this whole thing."

"Is… this normal behavior for demons?" Roger asked. "I have very little experience with these matters. Magic, it isn't something I-"

"I know," Dipper cut him off sharply, rage flaring in his chest. "Necromancy, dark spells, demon summoning – it's not something you'd ever do: you're as moral and cut and dry as they come! Trust me, I know!"

Roger stilled. "My sincere apologies, Master Cipher. They did say you were all knowing."

_All knowing._

Dipper's anger vanished, replaced by horror. "It's fine," he brushed it off. "So, this deal?"

"You'll help me?"

"I'll… I'll try. I've never cured cancer before. I don't even know if I can do it. O-or a deal."

"If there's even the smallest chance, I'll do it. I can't lose Angela."

"All right. Then…" Dipper frowned. What did he want in return? It was pretty clear deals needed two sides. Slowly, "I…. want you and Angela to live long and happy lives together. For the rest of your days."

"That's your half of the deal?"

"Yes."

"You don't want… like, my soul?"

An abrupt longing tugged in Dipper's chest. Souls were good. Souls were tasty. He didn't know how he knew this, but he did. Souls were a high price, but a fair price for a life, no? The saving of one life in exchange for another soul. Dipper shook his head. "All I want is your happiness."

"No, no tricks?" Roger ventured forth.

"No tricks." Instinctively, Dipper stuck out his hand – he almost wasn't surprised when it caught aflame with blue fire. "In exchange for you and Angela living a long and happy life together, I will cure her of her cancer. Or at least, try. No promises."

Roger clasped his hand in Dipper's and shook. The blue fire overcame both their hands. A sudden rush of energy surged up Dipper's arm and shocked his heart out of place; Dipper arced his back and gasped out – and then he knew, he was certain – yes, he could cure her cancer, he had that power! It was one of the most exhilarating feelings he'd ever experienced - the absolute certainty of ability.

A laugh erupted from his throat. "Come on, let's go!" He clamped down on Roger's wrist and with a flash, both were gone from the basement.

They materialized in the stark ugly whiteness of the hospital, at the bedside of the very woman Dipper had seen in Roger's memories.

All her vibrancy in those memories was subdued here. Her blond hair was thin and dull, her beautiful blue eyes closed and rimmed with dark circles, her cheeks hollowed out.

Dipper shivered, energy still pumping through his body. "This is easy as lunch. You want her cured? Done!" Dipper placed two fingers over her forehead.

Energy filtered from his chest outward down his arm and into her mind. Dipper exhaled excitedly when abruptly he knew that he'd done it. She was cured. The cancer removed from all her organs and nodes; the tissue promptly healed and altered so that it could never return.

"You can thank me later," Dipper said, so pleased with himself that he crossed his ankles in midair and reclined back on his folded hands.

"She's cured?" Roger whispered.

"She's just sleeping. A lot of that to catch up on. But she'll be fine by morning. The doctors will be a bit confused, though."

"It's really that easy?"

"Yeah, it… I guess it is." Dipper looked at his own hands in amazement.

"Wow." Roger stepped back. Then, his shoulders trembled. His eyes watered. "Bill Cipher….. thank you. Thank you so much. You don't know how much you've helped me-"

"I do, actually. I know everything about you."

A watery smile appeared on Roger's face. "Then you do. I never imagined demons were so nice. Truly… truly, thank you… If you ever need anything… I'm forever in your debt."

"Yeah…" Now that the energy surge had eased, Dipper was left feeling confused, amazed, and frightened. But above all, he knew he had helped this man. He had helped him in a way Dipper never, ever would have been able to help before. He'd done something unbelievably amazing for another person….. Lifting his gaze from his hands, Dipper smiled. "I'm happy I could help you."


	4. Where the Soul is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warnin’ y’all: this story gonna get dark

It was the morning after Roger had summoned him. Mabel and Dipper were gathered close together on the cushion seat beside the window. Waddles snuggled to Mabel’s chest, oinking contentedly. The morning sunlight framed both Mabel and Waddles in a gentle halo of sunlight. The very same rays passed right through Dipper indifferently; he cast no shadow, and could not be illuminated by any sunlit tones. 

“What did ya wanna talk about, bro-bro?” Mabel asked.

“I uh… did something weird last night.”

Mabel tugged at the collar of her sweater. “Uh, Dipper, if this is about the pictures of Wendy you have in your sock dr-“

“No! No, not that. Ew. Mabel, ew.”

“Oh phew…” Mabel cuddled Waddles and shuddered. “After Stan read me “ _Why Am I Sweaty_?” I know too much.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. Uh. Ugh.” Although disgusted, Dipper couldn’t help being glad once again that he didn’t have to suffer through that book. Although maybe it would have explained some things to him… “Um, anyway. Last night, I…” he faltered. He was going to tell Mabel, of course he was going to tell Mabel – he told her everything. 

Except about the rift. 

But everything else!

Sighing, Dipper hugged himself. “Last night I made a deal with someone.”

“Like, you got a good bargain off a tourist?”

“No, Mabel. Someone summoned me last night. This guy named Roger. His wife had cancer, and he…. He wanted to make a deal to save her. He thought I was Bill Cipher.”

Mabel’s brow furrowed. “It’s possible to _summon_ you?”

“I guess so.”

“So, you made a deal? Like Bill?”

“I didn’t mean to! But… I couldn’t just let her die. I promised I would cure her cancer in exchange for him living a long and happy life with her.”

Mabel’s eyes went wide. “Dipper….”

“I-I know. I don’t know what to think. This demon thing is freaking me out.”

“No, you’re such a softie!” She giggled and ruffled his hair. “Dip-dop, you’re the best younger brother ever, you know that?”

“Wh-what? But I made–“

“Well _yeah_ , cuz you wanted to help another person! I think that’s really noble of you.” Smiling, Mabel patted Waddles’ head. “You’re a good person, Dipper.”

“I-I guess. Still feel weird about doing something like Bill would.”

“That’s cuz you keep seeing it that way. What you did isn’t something Bill would do at all. He was all about manipulation, and he wouldn’t ever make a deal if he didn’t get something out of it. But you helped that guy Ralph just because you wanted to help! That’s one hundred percent Dipper right there.”

“His name was Roger.”

“Right.”

Dipper smiled. “Thanks, Mabel.”

“Hey… wait. Dipper, this is the answer! This is how we’ll turn you back human!”

“Wait, what?”

“Duh, Dipper! I’ll summon you, and make a deal with you to turn you back human!”

“Huh. I thought I was supposed to be the smart one.”

“Gotcha this time, bro-bro! C’mon, let’s draw the circle thingy.” She leapt up so fast that Waddles oinked in insult, and Mabel had to pat him and feed him pieces of corn to make him happy again.

Somehow, the knowledge of the summoning circle was ingrained in Dipper’s brain, so he was able to guide Mabel while she sketched it out in the middle of the floor with chalk.

“Latin words Latin words fancy shmancy Latin words!” Mabel chanted after the summoning circle was drawn.

“Um, Mabel, I don’t think it works that way.”

“Dip-dop, you know that’s _exactly_ how it works.”

Sighing, Dipper explained the incantation she needed to use (which he also suddenly intimately knew). Mabel repeated it verbatim; that sharp tug hit Dipper’s chest, and he popped into the circle. 

“Mabel, don’t you think it’s a little weird that I know this stuff all the sudden?” 

“Nah. You’ll be fine. I demand you turn back into a human!”

Dipper scratched the back of his neck. “I… think I have to ask for something in return, actually. For a deal to be complete.”

“All right. What do you want, bro-bro?”

“It should be something easily fulfilled. I want…. I want…” His face twisted into a mischievous smile. “I want you to do the Lamby Lamby Dance!”

Mabel gasped. “You wouldn’t! That dance is totally your thing.”

“It’s that or no deal,” Dipper closed his eyes and shrugged, smiling.

“Oh, I’ll do that dance!” Mabel declared. “I bet I can’t do it cuter than you do, though!”

Dipper blushed fiercely. “M-Mabel!”

“Juuust saying. C’mon! The demon thing is cool and all, but I really need a human being to test my new recipe…”

“Uhm, maybe I should just stay half-demon-“

Mabel laughed and stuck out her hand.

Dipper nodded firmly, all business again. “In exchange for you doing the Lamby Lamby Dance, I’ll turn back into a human.” Dipper’s hand clasped Mabel’s; both burst into blue flame, while Mabel enthusiastically cried, “Deal!” 

But the moment their hands touched, Dipper knew something had gone wrong.

It wasn’t energy or power that flowed up his veins – no, it was pain; and not like that of ripping off a band aid or tearing out a toenail – no, it was like he had stuck his entire arm into a meat grinder.

Dipper yanked his arm back, howling, but the pain didn’t stop there – it raked up his arms, as if something was trying to peel his flesh from his bones, as if sharp stones were being pumped inside his thin veins. The sensation clawed down the inside of his chest.

Dipper writhed in the air, scouring his nails over his chest in a futile effort to gouge the pain out of his body.

“Dipper, Dipper, what’s wrong?” Mabel shouted; Dipper heard her only as if through water – his ears felt thick and full of some wet substance. 

At the same time, thick chunks of fleshy blood foamed up his throat and pooled in his mouth. “M-mmbll-“ he bubbled weakly, “M-mbll hllp cllffdl!”

Mabel screamed, clutching her face. “Stan! Stan, Ford! HELP!”

More blood dribbled from his lips; his vision swam like cotton was clogging the inside of his brain.

“Quick, Dipper! I’ll sell you my soul in exchange for you getting better! Now!” She stuck her hand.

With wild eyes, Dipper shook his head, lips firmly pressed together. He didn’t know what a deal like that entailed, he didn’t – the pain struck with greater intensity and Dipper bent double.

“Do it!” Mabel shrieked, beckoning frantically with her hand. 

The door crashed open and Stan came thundering in. He was at Dipper’s side in a moment. “Kid, what’s going on?”

Dipper whimpered, eyes filling with hematic tears; it felt like his body was literally trying to tear itself apart from the inside.

“You can give it back later!” Mabel yelled. “Now, _deal_!” She grabbed Dipper’s hand forcibly; blue fire flared over their clasped hands.

Everything stopped. 

The pain was gone.

In fact, everything was gone. 

Dipper didn’t want to think about why, or how. He drifted listlessly, blindly. If anything could describe his mood… then it would be like a soft sigh of a person crawling into bed after a satisfying day of hard work. It would be like a breeze, maybe, curling pleasantly between two gently rolling hills. 

It was a mood filled with peace and freedom from pain. 

Dipper tilted his head back. It was… somewhat like the feeling of resting after a long day of forest-exploring, monster-fighting, or journal-writing…. Most likely, a combination of all three…. A combination that he hadn’t experienced since before the ritual. 

The ritual. 

Dipper blinked, and he was there, there at the moment of that ritual. He saw the binding circle at his feet and felt a coiling in his heart that heralded the thought, ‘ _it’s been awhile since I’ve felt real pain._ ’

Hazily, Dipper looked around the room. Sixer was leering up at him with vicious glee; Fez with fearful uncertainty. 

On the other side of the room, Pine Tree and Shooting Star. Hah, it was the army of twins. It was really sad that for all their effort –

Dipper blinked.

He was in Greasy’s Diner, observing two teenagers sitting and chatting. One was scratching something into the table. 

“Another triangle?” sighed Tambry. 

“They’re cool, okay?” answered Robbie. 

Blink.

Three dark-skinned individuals, gathered over a sheet of papyrus. They spoke another language, but Dipper had no difficulty understanding them,

“Summon, bind, kill.”

Blink.

A crowd of teenagers all wearing black;

“Whaddaya think?”

“Sweet as. You know the Illuminati make all those shirts though, right?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Blink.

A cavern swollen with midnight, worshippers gathered and whispering, the walls plastered with the image of their god-

Blink. 

Ancient Egypt, the Pharaoh gazing onto the pyramids with yellow eyes –

Blink, blink blink. 

Dipper closed his eyes. Somehow, he understood everything he saw as he saw it. But if he paused and tried to remember, he couldn’t. Nor would he remember having seen anything.

He opened his eyes again, and this time, he didn’t know where he was. 

In fact, if he could hazard a guess, he would say that that he was no longer in any part of reality. The ground was literally a rainbow pathway leading into a sunset. The clouds looked like they were made out of sweaters. Dipper was about 90% certain there was a field of frolicking pink cats in the distance. And the army of attractive male forms walking along a sunlit beach to his right was definitely not natural. Neither was the rainbow water on said beach.

The path that Dipper was currently floating above also branched off left and right perhaps hundreds or thousands of times along the road, leading into numerous short paths ending directly in archways. These archways were all of a different type, or so it seemed. 

One was smooth white marble; very regal and Greek-looking. Another was a wire mesh woven with flowers. Yet another was carved of sweet-smelling oak. 

As Dipper followed the path, he found that each arch was like a portal, or a video, to another scene. When he approached an archway composed of two mermen posing together with their tails artistically twined together, he saw through the archway and to…

Gravity Falls Pool? 

Yes, it was definitely Gravity Falls Pool. 

The image zoomed in closer to one particular person’s face – Dipper jumped when he recognized Mermunda, Mermanley – Mermando, that was it. And Mabel’s voice rang in his ears,

“You’re like, the coolest guy I’ve ever met. And you can play at least one chord on the guitar.” 

Ugh. Mabel flirting. Dipper moved away from the archway.

So….

This was the dreamscape, wasn’t it? The line of ‘doors,’ the mystical unrealistic surroundings…. 

More specifically, it was _Mabel’s_ dreamscape.

Dipper passed a pink arch with a label at the top reading, “Unicorns.” Two enormous red slashes crossed off the arch and the words “LIARS AND SCAMMERS” shimmered over the middle in red.

“Yeesh.” Dipper cringed. Mabel really had taken that unicorn encounter seriously.

So he knew _where_ he was… but he didn’t know _why_ yet.

Dipper wandered along the rainbow path, occasionally stopping to look at one memory or another, although he felt strange seeing so many events from Mabel’s point of view. Many of them seemed to be from the near past, all from the summer in Gravity Falls.

Finally he came upon an arch that looked quite different from the others. 

The wooden frame was simple in its obsidian coloring, but when Dipper leaned in to read the little inscriptions carved in the wood, he found curious odds and ends scrawled there;

“The dumb guy I should have cared about was you…” 

“You’d really do that for me?”

“You know I love you more than glitter? And sweaters? And just about anything?”

Somehow Dipper knew each one of those quotes was about him. 

Touched, he turned his attention to the archway itself. Inside he glimpsed Mabel slumped over the kitchen table, sometime late at night.

Something about the scene was achingly solemn and sad, but Dipper was not sure why. Entranced, he reached out and touched the surface of the image – to his surprise, his fingers slipped right through. 

_Of course… I was able to step right into Stan’s memories! It must work the same._

Passing under the archway, Dipper entered the room.

The kitchen was dark, quiet. The moon filtered in through the window and illuminated Mabel’s face in a gentle, cool hue. She was asleep. Her arms were tucked neatly under her head, and her body was curled over the tabletop. 

“Mabel, what are you doing sleeping there?” Dipper said softly, so as not to wake her. She looked… well, terrible would have been bad to say but… terrible. Her sweater sleeves were stained, her hair and clothes were rumpled, and her cheeks were red and streaked as if she had been crying.

“Oh, Mabel…” his heart broke. This was after the ritual, sometime in the week before he’d reappeared in the basement. Mabel hadn’t talked much about that week. Dipper had assumed she’d more or less been cheerfully determined to find a way to get her brother back. But of course she would have low moments, too…. Moments whenever she was alone, where her optimism would falter and she would become so afraid that she’d lost her twin brother forever. 

“I wouldn’t ever leave you,” Dipper whispered, and touched her shoulder lightly. But the moment his fingers brushed over her skin, something changed. He saw through her. Through to the table, and….

His brow furrowed. Burning inside her ribs was… something beautiful, like a tiny pink flame. Oh. 

_Oh._ Dipper sucked in a breath as he understood. It was her soul. She – right….

The entire reason he was here was because Mabel had just offered her soul to him…

Was he supposed to _take_ it? How did he even do that?

Eugh, it felt weird to consider taking her soul. Dipper clenched his hands over his own chest. He couldn’t do something like that, could he? 

His stomach growled, and Dipper scowled. Now really wasn’t the time to learn that, after two weeks, he was finally feeling hunger. Whatever. Whenever he got back to his original point in time, he’d have to figure out if it was actually possible for a demon to eat human food. 

Maybe he really did have to physically take her soul before leaving. As much as he didn’t want to… she _had_ traded it to him. 

It wouldn’t hurt her, would it?

Going on a whim, Dipper stretched out his hand – his fingers phased right through her back, and brushed against the coiled soul trapped in her ribs. His stomach growled. 

Dipper paused and glanced carefully at Mabel. She was still sleeping peacefully. So maybe it didn’t hurt?

He really hoped not. If this caused his sibling any pain, then the deal was off – he’d rather suffer than her. 

Dipper gradually curled both hands around her soul and ohsogently tugged, before double-checking Mabel’s expression. 

Not even a flinch. 

Maybe it really didn’t hurt to have your soul removed. 

Well, he would take good care of it until he could return it, that was for sure. 

Dipper meticulously pulled the soul towards himself; with hardly any resistance at all, it slipped out of her body, and he cradled it to his chest. 

The thing was warm, and brightly colored; its hues were constantly melding and changing and flaring with cheerful, soothing motions. It was so much like Mabel. 

Fascinated, Dipper drifted back and curled his entire body around the soul. He was beginning to salivate. His fingers dug into the soul; he shivered. It really did look good, Mabel’s soul. Dipper had never seen anything like it. The soft dulcet mixing of colors, the layers of memories, meaning, humanity… good enough to sink his teeth into. It was so real, so vibrant with life and feeling; things that Dipper as of late had not experienced…. It really was like cradling a star to his chest. 

He lowered his head. His lips lightly brushed the surface of the soul, his mouth opened –

And then there was a tiny whimper from the sleeping form before him. 

Dipper recoiled violently, eyes shooting wide open. What had he…?

His expression twisted in horror. This was his _sister’s_ soul, his _twin’s_ soul, it was pure and colorful and perfect just like her and he’d been about to…

Dipper bit back the urge to vomit again. 

He was certain that would have harmed her. No, that that would have ruined her. Destroyed her. He didn’t know how he knew – but he was certain that the taking of a soul was one thing, the devouring of a soul was an entirely different monster. 

Dipper exhaled shakily. It was just a demon thing. The demon part of his mind wanting him to do sick, wrong things, that he was never, ever going to do. Yes, that was right. Ford would figure out how to turn him back, and then everything would be fine. Until then, Dipper would just have to remind himself that his dumb demon-infected mind would want him to do horrible things. 

But he was Dipper Pines, and he wasn’t going to do those things. 

Nodding convincingly to himself, Dipper flitted out of the kitchen and back into Mabel’s mindscape. Once there, Dipper studied Mabel’s soul thoughtfully (ignoring the pang of longing hunger). It was beginning to tug against his fingers, as if wanting to fly back to its source. He was going to have to figure out a way to keep it with him. 

Without thinking, Dipper snapped his fingers, and a cage of silvery blue bars appeared around the soul. Well, with that done, he could now-

something yanked on his guts, and he jolted back into his body with a gasp. 

“Dipper, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry….” Mabel was murmuring, her arms faintly wrapped around him and pulled him close. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m so sorry… W-was it me? Did I mess something up?” Dipper leaned into her touch, and longed to truly feel it. Every inch of his physical body felt bone weary and weak. His eyes slid closed and he shivered. 

Now he knew he was back in reality – the dreamscape sure couldn’t feel this bad.

“Wh-what are you talking about?” he muttered, “I got your soul.”

“The deal! It hurt you!” 

“It’s fine, everything’s fine now…” Dipper assured her. It seemed like no time had passed while he was in the dreamscape… His tongue prodded his bloody lips and he cringed.

“Either of you two want to tell me what happened?” Stan growled.

Sniffling, Mabel looked up at Stan. “I tried to make a deal with Dipper. I wanted to turn him human. But….” Mabel curled around Dipper. “It’s okay, bro-bro… you’re fine just the way you are. We don’t need to try something like that ever again.”

Stan swore under his breath. “Made me think I’d just lost my two best employees.”

Mabel gave Stan a wry smile. “You don’t even pay us, Stan.”

“Exactly! Best employees.”

“Aw, you love us.” She punched his shoulder lightly, keeping one of her arms wrapped around Dipper. 

“No, wasn’t worried at all!” Stan glanced away. Then, quieter, “you two don’t get yourselves hurt. If I know anything, I know that this supernatural crap is dangerous.” He glanced back at Dipper. “If I’ve got any advice for you, kid, it’s to act as normal as you can. Don’t mess with this demon stuff. Don’t make deals. Just be Dipper, all right?”

Dipper nodded weakly and lifted his head, meeting Stan’s eyes. “Trust me, I don’t wanna make another deal again.”

“Whoa kid!” Stan recoiled; Mabel flinched.

“H-huh?”

“Your eyes, Dip,” Mabel said softly. “They’re um… they’re…”

Dipper sat up. “They’re what?”

“Look in the mirror.”

Dipper obediently floated over the mirror, only to wince at his reflection. His eyes were _yellow_ , with pupils like a cat… It was like the sock opera incident all over again. 

“I could make some money off that,” grunted Stan thoughtfully. “Good Summerween attraction.”

“But I’m not possessed,” Dipper rattled off.

“I dunno Dip, maybe it’s just part of being a demon.”

Dipper leaned close to the mirror. Seeing those yellow eyes reflected back at him was disconcerting – even worse than when his body had been stolen. At least then he’d known that it was Bill possessing his body. Now he was the one with eyes like these…. It wasn’t natural, it wasn’t right – it marked him as something inhuman.

“Kid, Ford needs to know about this,” Stan pointed out reluctantly. 

Dipper winced. “I’ll tell him.”

Stan scratched his head. “Bad blood between you and my brother? Thought you two nerds got along?”

Dipper sighed. “We did – we _do_. It’s just, I’m tired of him treating me like a test subject. It’s like he doesn’t even see my personality anymore.”

“He has been pretty detached toward Dipper,” admitted Mabel. 

“Don’t let it get to you too much,” Stan grunted, resting his hand over Dipper’s shoulder (literally, about an inch above it; he was overestimating). “My brother always put his research above his family.” A shrug. “In this case, his research _is_ his family. ‘Course he’d ignore us and hole himself up downstairs.”

“Stan,” Mabel scolded, hurt crossing her eyes. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that about Grunkle Ford. He’s just trying to look after Dipper.”

Stan looked away. “Just don’t take it too hard, all right kid?”

“Yeah…” Dipper answered glumly. Ford was supposed to have gotten better about the whole separation between research and family thing. And his research directly involved Dipper now! Why did he have to be so secretive? 

Scowling, Dipper glanced back into the mirror and prodded his eyelids distastefully. He looked horrible with yellow eyes.

“Welp, if either of you kids need anything, you know where to find me!”

“Where’s that?” Dipper asked.

“Wherever the money is, hahaha!” 

Dipper sighed as Stan left. 

Mabel sidled up to him. “Dip… you know Ford cares about you a lot, right?”

“Sure. He’s gonna care a lot when he finds out I’m finally showing ‘demonic’ signs. Deals, yellow eyes… Can’t wait to find out what new tests he’ll try to put me through.”

“He’s just worried about you.”

“Yeah.” 

“You know we better tell him.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

“He’s gonna figure out what’s wrong and get you better.”

“I know, all right!” Dipper yelled, clenching his fists. “Jeez Mabel, do you just state the obvious all the time?!”

Mabel recoiled. She said nothing, but she was screwing up her face like she was trying not to be hurt and failing. 

“Gosh, Mabel, I’m so sorry…” Slumping, Dipper buried his face in his hands. “It’s just really scary, all this stuff…”

“I know, bro-bro… I… forgive you.” Tiny frail arms wrapped around Dipper in a gentle hug. 

But her touch, like all physical sensations now, was muted, monochromatic. He could barely feel her arms at all. The lack of physical sensation was beginning to disturb him on a level he was afraid to admit yet, and so Dipper quickly pulled away, stifling the panic beginning to set into his heart. He couldn’t dwell on his numbness. He couldn’t dwell on the deals, or on his yellow eyes. 

“All right,” he said softly, “let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering, the idea for the story was conceived prior to any specific/detailed knowledge on Transcendence. Literally, I read two short Transcendence fics and was absolutely enraptured by the idea… But turns out that what I thought was going to happen with those fics, was not what actually happened. I looked up the fanon for Transcendence, and realized that the ending I anticipated did not appear to even exist within fanon. Thus… I decided I needed to write out my idea. The Alcor stuff is really cool, but this story follows along with my initial perception of Transcendence, rather than following the general fanon ideas. It will continue to diverge more and more as we progress. This is effectively an AU of an AU. Do not expect much – or any- Alcor-related things to progress, taking in mind the above info.
> 
> Next chapter is probably going to be shortest of the entire story, and is the last from Dipper’s PoV for a while. I have fun PoV swapping for the next chapters (; I can totally confirm Mabel will get her own chapter, and at least three other characters get their own chapters as well before we swing back to Dipper. Ehee I won’t tell you which characters get their own chapters, since by doing so, I could spoil some things.
> 
> Lol this chapter was like 95% finished days ago, but it took me so long for the remaining 5% because I seriously debated for the longest time about how I wanted Mabel’s dreamscape to look. And then I was debating how I wanted her dreamscape ‘doors’ to look. And then debated how each door should look. 
> 
> Finally, you guys are all awesome. My heart.


	5. Ford's Study

"Heeeyy…." Mabel sidled into Ford's study, Dipper slinking behind her. "So-um-I-might-have-sold-my-soul-to-Dipper-and-now-his-eyes-are-yellow-and-weird-but-it's-probably-not-that-big-of-a-deal – so hiii Ford, how's it going?"

Ford lurched up and rushed over before Mabel could even finish her statement; instantly, he was examining Dipper's eyes with an intensity that made Dipper extremely uncomfortable.

" _You sold him your soul_?" Ford roared when her words finally caught up to him.

Mabel tugged on her sweater and avoided Ford's glare. "What, is that like bad or something?"

Ford rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It can't be _good._ "

Mabel whined. "It was the first thing that popped into my head. Also, he can give it back with another deal."

"No!" Ford interjected. "No more deals, not yet."

"But Ford-"

"No! No exceptions. I can't believe you even made one to begin with. How did you two know to do that?"

"Dipper cured cancer!"

"Mabel!"

"Dipper, you explain," Ford demanded.

Dipper scowled and rubbed the back of his head. "In the middle of the night last night, some guy named Roger summoned me. His wife had cancer, and he thought I was Bill Cipher, so he wanted to make a deal to cure her."

"And you accepted?" Ford said in disbelief.

"She was dying! I couldn't just _leave_ her. She's a living, br-"

"What did you ask for in return?"

Mabel grinned mischievously. "He asked for their eternal happiness. Isn't that the sweetest?"

"Shut up…" flushing, Dipper averted his eyes. "I just didn't think it was right to ask anything else."

"So you've made two deals in a single day," muttered Ford darkly.

"Well…."

"There-might-have-been-another," Mabel hurried to say.

"Just a small one. It didn't work."

Ford raised an eyebrow.

Dipper sighed. "Mabel and I tried to make a deal that would turn me back human, but it didn't work."

"Most interesting…" Ford scrabbled for his journal and hurriedly jotted down some notes. "Mabel, would you mind giving your brother and I some space?"

"O-oh…." Mabel slumped. "Yeah. I didn't wanna do dumb nerdy stuff anyway." She slunk out of the lab, giving Dipper a worried look as she left.

Right away Dipper felt very alone. Because of the cold way Ford had been treating him lately, Dipper didn't really feel comfortable around him the way he used to. Mabel would have done wonders to make him feel relaxed… rather than cornered.

"Very well," Ford adjusted his glasses. "We need to test your abilities and limitations, Dipper. Since you first reappeared in the Shack, you've been gaining more demonic attributes – particularly in the last day. Did this start after your first deal?"

Aaand there Ford went, firing off questions without sharing his notes or explaining a single theory.

"Yeah, I guess it started after the first deal…" Dipper replied reluctantly, hardly believing that he was beginning to view the author so harshly.

"I see…. And aside from the eye color mutation, have you noticed any changes?"

Dipper chewed his lip. The word _interrogation_ flitted to the forefront of his mind. "I… no. Nothing."

Ford nodded, and scribbled another note into his journal.

"Can I see what you're writing?" Dipper asked suddenly, startling himself with the bluntness.

Ford's pen paused over the journal.

He met Dipper's eye; for a split second, Dipper could have sworn he saw fear there. But he must have imagined it. Why would the Author ever fear Dipper? Yes, he had to have imagined it.

Slowly, Ford lowered his eyes back to the journal. "Dipper, I work best alone. I'm afraid if I shared my calculations and theories, I may lose my thought process on this matter."

That didn't make any sense either. Dipper felt cheated. Hot anger flared against the inside of his ribcage. "I could help you. I'm smarter than most people think! I've been studying your journals all summer! Maybe if we worked together-"

"Dipper, calm down. Let's refocus here. Can you tell me when precisely-"

"No!" How could Ford be so calm? Did he not see how much Dipper could help him? "We'd be so much more productive to̵g҉ethe͟r!"

Ford refused to look at him; _why wouldn't Ford look at him?_ While his hands trembled over his journal, Ford spoke levelly, "Dipper, trust me. I'm only trying to do what's-"

"Show me your notes; tell me what you're thinking about me! And I'll give you something in return." Blue flames flared to life in his palm.

"No!" Ford shouted, backing up. "Dipper, this is very serious. No more deals!"

"Why? Why does it matter? _I saved someone's life._ " His voice twisted at the end, reverberating, "Th̸at's̛ ̴someth͢in̛g͠ I ̀n̢e̛v͝er c͟o̸u͏l͡d h͞av͟e dónę wit͘hou̕ţ ̕mak͘i̸ng̀ ͟a d͠eal͜!"

Ford had gone very still, eyes hidden behind his glasses. Dipper couldn't read his thoughts, and suddenly that made him extremely, _extremely_ furious. Before he knew what was happening, fire was scrawling across his entire body like a cocoon of weaponry. Dipper spread his arms; books, pens, and papers all around the room lifted into the air.

"It's cute that you think you can control me!" Dipper laughed, and his voice wasn't his. "That metal plate in your head won't protect you forever; you know that, IQ!"

Ford's vulnerable expression twisted into horror; Dipper's heart swelled with a sadistic thrill, and it was then, only then, that he realized what he was doing.

His heart dropped, he froze in place. The fire vanished; books, scrolls and pens all dropped back to their respective surfaces. The room went deathly silent.

Dipper wilted on the spot. He drooped and hung low in the air, his eyes widened. Just like that, he felt like a little kid again, a very frightened little kid who knew he had messed up so badly, and was so afraid of himself and - "N-no… G-grunkle. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean – I don't know what happened."

Ford wouldn't look at him. His arms were wrapped around his body tightly. "Out of my study. Now."

"F-Ford, no - I want to help you-"

Ford's head flew up, his eyes feral, " _NOW_!" he screamed.

Dipper shot up through the ceiling. Retreating into the attic, he furled up into a hovering ball above his bed. He'd messed up - he'd messed up - he'd messed-

"Dipper?"

 _Oh, no_. Mabel was here, knitting on her bed. Dipper whimpered and curled into himself more. He didn't want her to know what had happened. Maybe she'd hate him. He hated himself. He might've just messed up his only chance to be on good terms with Ford – what's worse, he'd utterly lost control of his emotions and acted like a complete monster.

" _Ohh…_ " Mabel made a soft noise. She understood her twin's feelings exactly, without him having to say a word. Quietly, she crawled into bed beside him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. Dipper barely felt it.

For awhile, neither twin said anything. They just were. Were together, the way they should be. Exercising a great force of will, Dipper steadied his breathing. He calmed the tremors working their way through his body.

Mabel waited patiently. She waited while he wiped away his tears.

Then, silently, Dipper rested his cheek on top of Mabel's head.

"Sorry, Mabel," he murmured.

"Stuff didn't go well with Grunkle Ford, huh?"

Dipper flinched. "I kind of almost set his entire study on fire."

"Aw now Dip, what'd I tell you about pyromania?"

"Um. Nothing?"

"Really?" Mabel sat up. "Oh. Well, don't set stuff on fire! Unless it's really pretty to watch it burn."

"Sometimes I really worry about you, Mabel."

Mabel grinned, and then punched his arm lightly. "I care about you too, bro-bro."

Dipper sighed. "Mabel… I just got so tired of him interrogating me. All I want to do is help him study the paranormal, like I should be doing. But now I'm the paranormal, and… it's like I'm not even his grand-nephew anymore." He wrapped his arms around his legs. "It doesn't feel so great. And... I keep feeling things that I shouldn't. I don't feel like myself anymore."

Mabel murmured, "you'll always be my brother, no matter what. And no matter what happens, I'll always be at your side."

Something in Dipper crumbled. Mabel was so sure, so in control… it was a polar contrast to how Dipper felt. In the study with Ford, he didn't even know where his anger had come from, not really – yeah, he'd been upset, but it was like one moment he was upset and the next he was consumed with fury.

Dipper didn't answer; he didn't have to. Mabel knew his gratitude.

So when he smiled gently and glanced up at her, she understood.

"Awkward sibling hug?"

"Awkward sibling hug."

"PAT PAT."

Long after she returned to do her own stuff, Dipper remained, touching his arms where she had touched, and wondering if he'd ever feel the way he used to.

When Stan called them down to dinner that night, Ford didn't show up. Dipper didn't feel like talking, but pretended to sit in the chair like a normal kid, because it lent the scene some semblance of normality.

Mabel talked too loud, Stan said little, and Dipper said nothing… but he couldn't help being unsettled by the whole scenario. The clinking of plates, the crunching of food, sloshing of liquid, the cacophony of eating noises that Dipper never realized were so intrusive or offensive. His own stomach growled; unconsciously, his thoughts flitted to the soul he had trapped in the mindscape. Almost instantly he wanted to retch, but he kept it together and smiled reassuringly when Mabel looked his way worriedly.

It was harder and harder to believe he was human, or that he'd ever be human again.

And that night, for the first time, Dipper voluntarily left Mabel's side as she slept.

His ghostly form, complete with haunted yellow eyes, wandered silently down the stairs and into the kitchen. It was 3:12 AM. He knew this without looking at any clock. Ford had passed out in his study, sprawled over books and papers. Stan had fallen asleep on the couch. He knew both these things without personally checking.

All this meant he was alone, and would be undisturbed.

Quietly, as though hypnotized, Dipper willed the silverware drawer open. A single steak knife drifted into Dipper's hand. There he paused.

He couldn't feel book pages beneath his fingers. He couldn't feel the warmth of Mabel's body when she cuddled against him. He couldn't feel breezes, rain, the gentle rays of the sun.

It was like living in a bubble, separate from everyone else.

They all lived in a vibrant, amazing world filled with tangible objects and things like heat and cold. Dipper… Dipper lived in a different world. And it was beginning to really get to him.

The blade tip brushed teasingly over his pale forearm.

It wasn't very sharp. If he wanted more, he'd really have to dig in.

It wasn't like his body was _human_ anymore… It might look like it, but Dipper knew that it wasn't. So there wasn't really any risk involved.

The blade dug harder into his arm; still not quite breaking skin.

He wasn't really about to do this, was he?

But maybe he'd actually feel it.

In the end… it hurt more to think about his physical apathy than it did to think about hurting himself. Dipper reared the knife above his head. With a quiet whimper, he drove the blade straight through his palm to the tip.

For a split second, he felt nothing, but his vision went white and he was aware of a dull throbbing in his mutilated hand. Then the pain struck.

Dipper staggered, eyes going half-lidded. _Ohh_. Oh, there was feeling. All the muscles in his hand had frozen as if they themselves were in complete shock; Dipper wasn't able to feel the exact wound itself, but he could feel the sparking jolts of agony reverberating out from the wound, crawling around his bones. The pain could be felt all the way up to his elbow, and crept up even further than that in dull strings.

Dipper exhaled slowly. It took precisely two minutes and thirty four seconds for his brain to begin to clear up from the adrenaline hit. At that point, Dipper was able to remember where he was, remember what he was doing, and why he was doing it.

He stared at his throbbing hand in partial disbelief.

His ring finger and middle finger had entirely lost functionality and feeling. No matter how he tried, Dipper could not wiggle or move them. His pinkie twitched pitifully when he tried. His pointer finger had the benefit of a full movement range, though taking advantage of that made the pain flare afresh.

In a twisted way, he could understand why Bill Cipher had been so amused by pain. If Bill, like Dipper, felt things in only this muted manner (or perhaps did not feel physical things at all), then nerves screaming in a human body must have been exhilarating for him. In a way, it seemed depraved – to harvest feeling by self-harm. But if it was the only way to feel…. The _sharpest_ way to feel…

This realization left a hollow, heavy feeling in his chest.

Was this his future?

Closing his eyes, Dipper wrenched the knife out his palm; an involuntary giggle escaped his lips at the quiet ecstasy of pain. And then, he had a sudden urge to really go at it.

To just go for it. Gouge out slice after slice in his arm, revel in the human realness of life, existence, being –

Gagging, Dipper dropped the knife and reeled away.

These weren't his thoughts! This _wasn't_ him!

He healed his hand as quickly as possible, removed the blood from the blade, and returned the knife to the drawer.

In two seconds flat, he was back in his room, trembling.

No matter what, he couldn't tell Mabel about this. Not Ford, either. Nobody needed to know what he'd done. They'd only worry. They'd just misunderstand. It didn't mean anything. All the damage was fixed, anyway.

Nothing was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, I have a 2,000-5,000 word essay to write in a mere few days (and final exams two to three weeks after that). I'm gonna try to keep this story on a consistent updating schedule (once a week ideally), but no promises, guys.
> 
> Lastly, we're shifting for the next 3 or 4 chapters to other people's PoV. I don't have any of those chapters finished yet, but I've been having a blast writing from PoVs that I otherwise would not have attempted. :D


	6. What Could Go Wrong?

“Dumb brothers, dumb Grunkle Ford, dumb, dumb, dumb….” Mabel banged her head on the kitchen table with each successful ‘dumb.’

“Rough morning?” Stan shuffled into the kitchen and settled heavily in his chair. He set his coffee cup down beside Mabel’s cup of Mabel juice. 

“The worst,” admitted Mabel. She had her hands tangled up in her hair and was staring in devastation at the table. 

“Want to talk about it?” grunted Stan. 

“It’s just, Dipper really hasn’t been acting like himself.”

Stan scratched his chin. “I get that. I caught the kid in the gift shop yesterday. He was tearing off the heads of my bobble heads. Laughing like crazy.”

“Yeah!” Mabel threw up her hands in frustration. “He does stuff like that, and then he looks all confused like he doesn’t know why.”

“You know he keeps rearranging the silverware? Every morning I wake up and there’s forks in the fridge, spoons in the toaster, and knives in the axolotl’s tank.”

“Oh yeah…Dipper told me about that, actually. He told me he moves them because it feels right.”

“Huh.” Stan stared down into his coffee. “Wonder if it’d do him any good to leave the silverware where he puts it.”

“He’s just really confused. He’s… he’s acting kind of like Bill.”

Stan’s lip curled. “The more I hear about this Bill, the less I like the guy. I wish you kids never got mixed up with him. Heck, I wish my brother had been smart enough to stay away from him in the first place.”

“Agreed.” Mabel sighed. “And Dipper’s making a big deal out of this demon thing, which is so dumb because he’s totally still my twin no matter what. If Bill’s rubbing off on him, then he needs his family more than ever.”

Stan shook his head. “Kid, I wish I knew you thirty years ago. You’ve got the stubbornness of a mule. It’s probably just what Dipper needs.”

“You think so?”

Stan laughed and stood, stretching. “Mabel, both our brothers are nerdy blockheads. They’re too absorbed in trying to protect our family that they forget to enjoy family.”

“Exactly!”

“So I’ll tell ya what. How about we round up those two miscreants and sit them down for a board game or something? You get Dipper - that kid listens to you better than me.”

“What about Ford?”

Stan rubbed his knuckles into his fist. “I’ll make him listen.”

Mabel giggled. “Grunkle Ford can totally take you.”

“Sometimes, Mabel, you just gotta let a man believe in himself, even when he’s wrong.”

“All righty, Grunkle Stan! Meet in the living room in ten?”

“Make it fifteen, and you’re on. I’ve got to wrangle a self-absorbed scientist.”

“Hah! I’m wrangling a half demon!” Mabel declared as she strutted out of the kitchen. “Bet I can still beat you!”

“You’re on!” Stan shot back as Mabel flew up the stairs. 

Giggling, she threw open the attic door. “Diippeerr! We’re gonna have a family g- Ahh! Dipper, what are you doing!?” Mabel clutched her face. 

The room was a wreck. Books, pencils, stuffed animals, and pretty much anything and everything was thrown to the floor. 

In the middle of this mess, Dipper was floating. His yellow eyes were stretched wide-open, and constantly flicked around the room as if in search of something just out of sight. He looked startled to see her, then he glanced down at the floor. “O-oh. Sorry. I was looking for silver….”

“Silver?”

“I’m setting up a werewolf trap.” His voice sounded strained.

“Werewolves? Why would you need to-?”

“Because we do!” Dipper snapped; only then did Mabel catch how badly he was shaking. “I-I think we do, at least….”

“Okay, okay…” Mabel began to pick her way across the room towards her brother.

“No!” he yelled. “Don’t come near me!”

“Okay.” Mabel lifted up her hands and stopped. “I’m right here. Dipper, I won’t get any closer unless you want me to.”

“Don’t. I don’t – don’t –“ Dipper’s voice caught. A flash of fear skittered across his expression before he relaxed and smiled, “I’m not safe to be around me, Shooting Star. That’s why Sixer kicked me out of his study. He’s _terrified_ … and you should be too.”

Then Dipper crumbled, his face going lax and his eyes puzzled. “It’s uh – it’s, uh, it’s not safe. You should keep your distance. I…” he blinked hard. “I keep seeing things.” He surveyed the mess of the room in confusion. “I don’t know why I’m setting up a werewolf trap. I just, just had a feeling, I thought… Maybe I’m too late? It might have happened in the past. Don’t get any closer!”

Mabel, who had begun inching nearer, stopped. “It’s okay, Dipper,” she murmured. “I’m not scared of you. But I know it must be hard – um, seeing all this stuff. But you don’t have to protect me: you’re my little brother and you wouldn’t ever hurt me.”

Dipper tensed as Mabel slowly approached again, her hands up. “I’m not gonna hurt you, either.”

Slowly, she reached out her hand and grasped his own. “See? 100% safe.”

Dipper slumped. “Right. Sorry, I don’t know what… Thanks, Mabel… Maybe this trap thing is dumb. I was almost finished with it, though.”

“I think you should go ahead and finish it, bro-bro.”

“Really?”

“I think it’s okay to trust this instinct. You don’t have to be wary of _everything_ that comes from the demon part of you. You’ve still got your Dip-dop brain, and if some instinct is telling you we need to trap a werewolf, then...” Mabel shrugged. “Maybe you’re supposed to use your brain and say that yeah, we need to trap a werewolf.” Then Mabel giggled. “Do you think he’ll be an _attractive_ werewolf?”

“I knew there was a reason….”

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Okayyy. But still. I trust you. So what else do we need to do to finish the trap?”

“I pretty much have everything,” Dipper admitted. Drifting over to the window, he pointed at a symbol he had carved in his nightstand. “This does most of the work. The problem is, I need something silver to finish the trap.”

“One of my sweaters has silver in it.”

Dipper’s eyebrows quirked. “Um… Should I be surprised?”

“Not in the slightest, bro-bro.” Trotting to her side of the room, Mabel tugged out a turquoise sweater with an explosion of what looked like confetti sewed on the front. “You can use it for your werewolf trap thingy.”

Dipper accepted it. “Mabel, you seriously have _silver_ in this?”

“Yup! It’s in the fabric.”

“How did you even….?”

“A true seamstress never reveals her ways,” Mabel said with a wink. 

Shrugging, Dipper folded up the sweater and placed it beside the seal, which glowed silver in proximity to the cloth. 

“The room looks trashed,” he admitted.

“The trashiest.”

“I’m gonna feel like an idiot if all this ends up for nothing.”

“But imagine if a werewolf breaks into the shack and gets trapped up here. And come morning, he turns into the handsome man of my dreams.” Mabel clasped her hands together wistfully.

“Annnd, you’re done. What do you want to do today, Mabel?”

“Oh!” She jumped up. “I totally forgot to tell you! We’re having a family game day today!”

“Family game day?”

“Yup! Just you, me, and our two best grunkles!”

“Oh.” Dipper sunk low in the air, averting his eyes. “I dunno, Mabel, maybe another time.”

“Oh no.” Mabel grinned wickedly. “You don’t get a choice! It’s mandatory.” 

“Mabel, Ford doesn’t even seem to like me. Why would he want to play a board game with me? Remember, I almost destroyed his study.”

“Dipper, he’s still our great uncle. And Ford totally likes you. He’s just being lame about the demon thing. But today we’re not gonna think about that. Today is just fun.”

“I don’t know, Mabel.”

“C’mon, do it for meeee.” Mabel’s eyes went round and sparkly and Dipper threw up his hands to cover his eyes.

“Ah! Fine! That face is cheating.”

“Haha!” Mabel pumped a fist in the air. With Dipper drifting behind her, she turned and jogged down the stairs. They entered the living room, only to find that it was empty. 

“Maybe Stan’s having some trouble getting Ford to come,” Mabel said sheepishly. 

“Right. Yeah. Not surprised.” 

“Hey, this just means we get to pick the game first! C’mon.” Mabel darted into the hallway and opened up the closet door. 

Looking over her shoulder, Dipper mused, “Y’know, we never did play “ _What Could Go Wrong?_ ”

“Huh.” Mabel rubbed her chin. “That’s right.”

“They’ve got good marketing,” Dipper commented at the same time Mabel added, “You gotta play with a title like that.”

“Done.” Mabel grabbed “ _What Could Go Wrong?_ ” and carried it into the living room. 

“ _What Could Go Wrong?_ ” was a wooden box that opened to reveal the game board: a polished black surface with white spaces winding around from the “Start” space to a crystal ball in the middle – presumably the “Finish.”

Mabel picked up the instructions and read, “‘A game for those who seek to find a way to leave their world behind’… Um, okay. ‘You roll the dice to move your token; doubles gets another turn. The first player to reach the end wins.’”

“Sounds easy enough,” Dipper said as he poked through the four player tokens. Each token was a crude wooden carving of some mythical beast. Among them he identified a unicorn, a dragon, a mermaid, and a manticore. 

Mabel continued, “‘adventurers beware: do not begin unless you intend to finish. The exciting consequences of the game will vanish only when a player has reached the end and called out ‘everything.’’ Huh. Why everything?”

Dipper snorted. “I get it. It’s the answer to the game.”

“ _What Could Go Wrong_ ….” Then Mabel giggled. “ _Everything!_ ”

“Very cheeky. I call the dragon!”

“I’ll be the mermaid,” Mabel said happily, gathering that token to her chest. 

“Oh hey dudes, what’s up?”

Mabel and Dipper looked up. “Wendy! What are you doing here on a Sunday?”

Wendy shrugged. “I left my magazine here on shift yesterday. Is that a board game?”

“Yeah, it’s family game day!” Mabel announced proudly. 

“Mind if I play?” Wendy sat down beside Mabel and tossed a careless glance over the rules. “My family’s being crazier than usual today.” She rolled her eyes. 

“You can totally pretend we’re your family! Anyway, there’s only four pieces, and our grunkles are gonna join. But I’m sure they’d be happy to be on the same team!”

“Uh, Mabel,” Dipper interjected, “I’m not so sure-“

Wendy laughed. “Chill, Dipper. I’ll be on your team.”

“O-oh…” Dipper flushed and then promptly pretended like nothing was wrong. Mabel cast him a dark look over the board game. He was _supposed_ to be getting over Wendy. 

Still, nothing she could do about it now. She placed her mermaid token and Dipper’s dragon token on the start space.

Ford and Stan sure were taking a while to come back up.

“These tokens are pretty wild,” Wendy remarked, toying with the manticore and the fairy. 

“Look at mine!” Mabel went to pick up the mermaid again, but her hands slipped over it. Frowning, she tried again. The token wouldn’t move. “Stupid mermaid…” Mabel muttered, grabbing the token angrily and tugging. She still couldn’t lift it from the board game. 

“It must be magnetized,” Dipper suggested. 

“What are you two doing!?” Ford’s sudden shout quaked through the room. 

Mabel and Wendy jumped; Dipper burst into spontaneous blue fire before quickly putting it out.

Ford was standing in the foyer, his brows hunched together over his glasses; Stan lingered behind him, looking just as confused as the kids.

“We picked out a game,” Mabel said, pointing at “ _What Could Go Wrong?_ ”

Ford shook his head. “Kids, that game is cursed! Tell me that neither of you put pieces on the board yet – tell me!”

“Whoa, whoa.” Stan put his arm across Ford’s chest and glared at him. “Care to explain what you mean by _cursed_? You’ve got cursed board games laying around my house?”

Ford’s eyes incrementally narrowed. “They were for _scientific_ study. And this is _my_ house.” He stalked into living room and scowling, gazed down at the pieces already set onto the game. “Now it’s too late; look what you did. We have to play to the end. Only then will the effects of the game be reversed.” 

“I’m sorry,” Mabel whimpered. How was she supposed to know the game was cursed? But of course she had to pick the wrong game, and drag the entire family into something they didn’t want to play… 

“Hey, hey!” Stan shoved Ford’s shoulder hard. “How’s the kid supposed to know that? If you hadn’t left it lying around-“

“None of this house was meant to be suitable for children! And you never should have moved here!”

There was a tense silence. Dipper, Mabel, and Wendy all looked on uneasily.

“Yo, I can uh, leave if this is a bad time…” Wendy offered, her face pained. 

Ford rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We don’t have a choice now. The game must be played to completion.”

Mabel sidled between Ford and Stan. “So ah, haha. This is just another opportunity, guys! We all gotta work together to beat the game. So uh,” Mabel rubbed the back of her head. “What exactly is so cursed about it?”

Ford sighed. “Anything that happens in the game happens in real life.”

“That actually sounds really cool,” Wendy said.

“It’s not.” 

Stan and Ford walked over to the board game and sat with the others; Mabel saw when Ford and Dipper’s eyes met awkwardly over the board game before both looked away. So, both were still determined to be huge butts towards each other, then. Mabel furrowed her brow. She _would_ get them to be friends again. 

“I’m the mermaid,” Mabel said cheerfully, pointing out her piece. “Dip-dop’s the dragon.”

Stan picked up the remaining two tokens thoughtfully. “I’ll be the manticore.” He tossed the fourth token to Ford, who deadpanned.

“A fairy? This is a very inaccurate depiction of the fae, to tell the truth. Fae are-“

“Shut it, Poindexter. Mabel sweetie, whose turn is it?”

“Dipper’s! We’ll go counter-clockwise. So Dipper, Stan, Ford, Me. Wendy’s on Dipper’s team.” 

“Yeah, moral support! Go Dipper!”

Dipper gathered the dice in his hands, shook, and threw them down on the board, rolling an eight. The crystal ball in the middle of the game board went cloudy, then words appeared in gold text. Mabel read aloud; “They breathe fire, you’d better run; these winged things are not much fun.”

Mabel furrowed her brow. “What’s it talking about?”

Suddenly there was a crash somewhere else in the house, like something heavy falling onto a hard floor.

“Um, was that part of the game?”

Ford’s mouth formed a grim line. “Stay put, everyone. I’ll investigate it.” So naturally, when he followed the sound into the kitchen, every person came right after him. 

They all collectively stared in shock when they glimpsed two very strange-looking beasts invading the kitchen. They appeared to be some mismatched mixture of a rooster and a dragon – they had scales, tails, two legs, wings, and rooster heads, although their size was that of a normal rooster. One was tearing into the pantry and gulping down food as fast as it could; the other was perched on the table and eyeing the company that halted in the doorway. 

“They’re cockatrices,” Dipper blurted, recognizing them from journal 3. 

“This game does _not_ mess around,” Wendy said in amazement, as the cockatrice on the table opened its beak and spat a warning burst of flame.  
“Nobody move; I’ve got this,” Ford ordered calmly, leaping into the kitchen. Instantly a wild chase began where the kitchen erupted into a chaotic, fire-belching mess. The cockatrices darted and lunged and bolted this way and that while Ford doggedly pursued them, hands outstretched to snatch a tail.

Along the way, he and the cockatrices knocked over pots, pans, and the microwave.

Wendy pulled out her axe and hefted it in her hands. “This guy doesn’t know how to get a bird. Three… two….” A cockatrice whizzed past; Wendy swung the axe, and a moment later, the beast was split into two. “Done,” Wendy said, resting the axe over her shoulder. 

“This isn’t safe!” Ford shouted as he kept tearing around the room. “Everyone, stay out of this! They can spit a poison that-”

“Grappling Hook!” Mabel screamed, leaping into the room and taking aim. “Ka-POW!” With an enthusiastic buzzing sound, the grappling hook shot at the surviving cockatrice and pinned it to the wall. The thing squirmed and writhed under the prongs, but the hook wasn’t letting up.  
Panting, Ford halted and swung his gaze towards Wendy and Mabel. His surprise was nearly comical, and Mabel grinned wickedly.

“You don’t have to do everything alone, Grunkle Ford! It was Dipper and Wendy’s roll anyway.”

Stan laughed as well, patting Mabel’s back. “That’s my girl! Haha, never underestimate a twelve year old with a grappling hook.”

Ford wiped sweat from his brow. “Well done, Mabel. And Wanda.”

“Wendy, but nice try.” 

“Oh.” Ford had the sense to look embarrassed, and followed Mabel as she lead everyone back into the living room.

“Guess that means it’s my turn, huh?” Stan said, setting his piece on start and picking up the dice. “Just like shooting dice.” Throwing them onto the game, he rolled an eleven. 

“You didn’t cheat?” Ford asked sharply.

“Not that time,” answered Stan smugly. “Just a pro at dice!”

He clearly wasn’t a pro at “ _What Could Go Wrong?_ ” though, because after his roll, a real actual manticore burst into the living room, smashed the TV, tore up the couch, and would have mauled Stan if Ford hadn’t shot it with his shrinking gun (a product of the crystals Dipper and Mabel had found earlier that summer). 

The game did not get any easier. Successive turns included – but were not limited to - an army of tiny trolls, the emergence of a centaur determined to court Mabel (that was a crisis barely averted), and a horrifying Cthulu-esque creature that tried to drag Ford away before Wendy removed most of its limbs with her axe.

On the last turn, they chased away a stampede of unicorns. Mabel demonstrated especial joy during that round. It rotated to her turn, while she had only four spaces left. She snatched the dice, grinning confidently. “Guess this is it, guys!”

Wendy, ringing unicorn blood out of her hair, shouted in full support, “Woo, go Mabel! Finish the game!”

Ford nodded. “All you have to do is exclaim, “Everything,” and all the effects from the game will reset.”

“Got it.” Mabel tossed down the dice. She opened her mouth, prepared to shout, “Everything!” when the dice landed.

She rolled a three. Her jaw dropped. “I was so close!”

Dipper leaned over the board and read the riddle out loud: “Their fangs are sharp, they like your taste; your party better move post haste.”

“That’s concerning,” Mabel commented while Wendy added, “Why do these have to be so vague?”

Then the floor began to tremble. 

“… better move….?” Dipper input. Water began to seep between the floorboards.

“Uh, dudes, maybe we should get outta here,” Wendy said as she and everyone else yelped and scrambled to their feet. 

The floorboards began to crack and groan, more water bubbling and oozing through.

“We need to get to the stairs.” Ford commanded. “Bring the game!”

Mabel snatched the game up and held it to her chest while their party began to slog towards the stairs – but it got tough real quick. By this point, the floorboards were slick and shifting beneath their feet; they constantly slipped and stumbled.

Then, with an earth-quaking crash, the floorboards exploded open; huge torrents of water burst through the holes and flooded the living room. Surging tides of dark water submerged the entire group. Only Dipper, graced with intangibility, was not helplessly splashing against the currents.

In unspoken agreement, everyone began struggling towards the stairs; the only spot not yet drowned under water. The water steadily rose, engulfing the couch, the TV, the axolotl’s tank. Soon there was only about a foot between the ceiling and the water level, but Wendy, Stan, Ford, and Mabel managed to clumsily swim their way to the foyer.

Hovering nervously above the flood, Dipper let out a gasp when he saw black shapes darting under the water. Shapes that definitely were not his family. Shapes that were each in fact, three or four times the size of a human.

“Guys, get out of the water!” he screeched. “There’s things in the-“

But he was a little too late. 

Mabel was furthest from the stairs, and treading weakest of them all due to the board game still clasped to her chest. One of the black shapes passed underneath her. Dipper’s heart leapt into his throat and he prayed, he prayed that it was nothing; that nothing would happen.  
With a muffled shriek, Mabel was yanked beneath the waves.

“Mabel!” Dipper screamed, and plunged into the water after her. He didn’t have time to consider how weird being underwear felt, as the floor had entirely opened up into a gaping maw of a hole, and _something_ was pulling his sister into those depths. That something had a huge slimy fish tail, but the front of a black, vile-looking horse. It had its sharp teeth clenched tight around her ankle, and it was using powerful strokes from its tail to propel itself and Mabel down into the darkness. _Kelpies._

Dipper shot after it and reached for Mabel’s hand – but to his horror, his hand passed right through her. 

_No!_ This wasn’t the time for intangibility problems! Snarling, Dipper reached out again – his heart soared when he managed to grasp her hand in his and tug. 

The kelpie was much, much stronger. Letting out a hiss muffled by water, it lashed its muscular tail and effectively hauled both Mabel and Dipper down. 

_Nononono-!_

Suddenly, a six-fingered hand shoved Dipper aside: Ford twisted in the water, feet down, and pointed his shrinking gun at the kelpie’s forehead. Sensing its danger, the kelpie shrieked and released its prey. Ford gathered Mabel (whose eyes were beginning to flutter shut) and the game board to his chest. He shot Dipper a single indecipherable look, then kicked his legs hard and surfaced. 

Dipper flew after them; when he breached the water, he saw that Wendy and Stan had managed to make it to the stairs safely. They helped pull up Ford and Mabel; the latter who instantly slumped and began coughing up water. 

But the danger wasn’t past. 

A herd of kelpies gathered where the water lapped at the stairs. Those in the lead started inching their slimy bodies up the steps; as they progressed further out of the churning water, their fish tails began to transform into the smooth back legs of a horse. 

Their red eyes were sparking with hunger, their tongues licking at sharp fangs, the smell of blood fresh in their nostrils from Mabel’s bitten ankle.  
“It’s no use!” Mabel whimpered through exhausted lungs; “they can follow us into the attic!”

Ford started, “I’m sure they have a weakness - I just need to-“

“Fire,” Dipper said calmly. And then the room exploded with blue flames. The water began to hiss and boil; the flesh of the kelpies sizzled and turned red-hot. Their high-pitched shrieks of pain reverberated through the Shack and shattered the windows; everyone but Dipper threw their hands over their ears.

Dipper clenched his fists and poured more power in the flames. Screaming, the kelpies reared backwards and scrambled down the stairs into the water, but even there they were not safe; the water was tumultuous and steaming. Dipper focused all his energy into heating up the water; flames danced above the surface like blue seaweed. 

The kelpies slipped back under the floorboards and vanished. A few more seconds passed with just the crackle of flames; the Shack filled with thick white steam. Dipper kept it up until there was only a thin layer of water over the ruptured floorboards, and all signs of the kelpies were gone. 

Then the fire vanished, and he slumped. Everyone was soaked through and sitting halfway up the stairs, eyes wide. 

“Dude,” Wendy was the first to speak. “That was crazy! I had no idea you could do something like that, Dipper! That was the coolest thing ever!”

Stan was clutching his face in horror at the state of the first floor. “The Shack is ruined! This is going to cost so much money.” He paused. “Do you think I can get Soos to do it for free?”

Ford rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Everything will fix itself once the game is over.”

“Finishing the game will fix _that?_ ” Stan exclaimed, waving a hand at the damage.

“Yes, Stanley.”

“How do you know-“

“Fiddleford and I played it.” Silence. Ford cleared his throat. “For um, scientific reasons.”

Mabel sniggered.

“As long as everything goes back to normal,” grumbled Stan while Mabel set up the board game again on the steps. 

“So all we have to do is reach the end of the game, right?” Wendy said. “Look, Dipper’s twelve spaces behind. All I gotta do is roll a twelve.” Wendy held one die in each hand, the ‘six’ side of each die facing upwards. “Easy-peasy.”

“No!” Ford lunged to stop Wendy, but it was too late - she dropped the dice about an inch above the board, and each landed perfectly with the six facing up. 

Wendy tensed. “Uh, is that not something I should have done?”

Ford groaned and smacked his face. “The game doesn’t like cheating.” 

Wendy leaned over the board nervously; the newest riddle emerged in the orb; 

“A law of “ _What Could Go Wrong? _” has been broken; You will step back even more than your token.”__

__“You know, I don’t really know what that means.” Then her eyes shot wide. “Uh, guys… I feel kinda weird.”_ _

__Ford knelt beside her. “Weird how?”_ _

__“Um…” Wendy rocked to her feet, looking increasingly nervous. “Um…” Then everyone did a double-take when right before their eyes, red-brown fur began to scrawl across her arms and creep up her throat. Wendy backed up so quickly that she stumbled over the steps. “Whoa whoa whoa guys what’s happening –“_ _

__A huge wolf tail swished at her feet; her eyes were turning gold-yellow._ _

__“Keep calm!” Ford demanded. “Panicking will not-“_ _

__“Hold up, nonono-“ But before Wendy could say any more, her face elongated into a wolfish snout, complete with enormous fangs. She crashed down onto all fours – but rather than hands and feet, she now had four paws. In another second, it was no longer Wendy facing them, but a full-on wolf._ _

__Wendy rocked back on her haunches; her jaws opened and released a long feral howl that trembled in Mabel’s bones._ _

__“Everyone stay back!” Ford shouted, but he hardly needed to say a thing – Mabel and Stan were already backing up the stairs, while Dipper had frozen at the bottom._ _

__Letting loose a guttural growl, Wendy sprung forward – her huge jaw clamped around Ford’s forearm; instinctively, he stumbled and his lower back struck the stair railing._ _

__“Careful!” Stan shouted, leaping forward to get between Wendy and Ford. “I’ll double your pay for a day!” Stan slammed his elbow hard into Wendy’s chest. She released Ford’s arm and yowled, twisting to face Stanley instead._ _

__When she leaped at him for prey, Stan deftly strafed to the side and looped an arm around her neck. Soon his full weight was pinning her neck down, and Stan muttered curses under his breath while Wendy thrashed and growled beneath him._ _

__“Q-quick!” Dipper exclaimed, “try to bring her to our room! We have a werewolf trap set up; it might work!”_ _

__Ford cast Dipper a strange look, but Stanley wasn’t asking any questions._ _

__“Easier said than done, kid!” he grunted, trying to lug Wendy’s wolf body up the stairs, while she did her best to shake herself free._ _

__“Let her go!” Mabel cried from the top of the stairs._ _

__“Are you crazy, kid!?”_ _

__“Do it! Trust me!”_ _

__“I’m not letting a crazed wolf rampage-“_ _

__“Trust me, Grunkle Stan!”_ _

__He met her eyes. He shook his head, muttering under his breath, “stupid kid’s gonna kill us all…” But he released Wendy._ _

__“Hey, stupid wolf, look at me! Blah blah blah!” Mabel danced around at the top of the stairs and stuck out her tongue._ _

__By this point, Wendy’s jaws were dripping with saliva, her eyes were flashing in fury. She didn’t even hesitate before tearing up the stairs and pouncing toward Mabel._ _

__Mabel ducked to the floor; Wendy sailed right over her head and into the room. Realizing what had happened, Wendy skidded to a stop, twisted around, and launched herself at Mabel again-_ _

__“No!” Ford shouted, leaping forward –_ _

__But Wendy crashed snout-first right into an invisible barrier in the doorway and collapsed to the ground, whimpering and putting her paws over her nose._ _

__“The trap,” Dipper gasped, and let out a laugh. “It worked! It really worked! Haha! You did it, Mabel!”_ _

__A very soaked and very exhausted Mabel grinned wide._ _

__Ford pulled out his journal, flipping through the pages. “Cure for werewolves, cure for werewolves-“_ _

__“Aconitum,” supplied Dipper proudly._ _

__“Of course; wolfsbane,” Ford muttered, pacing back and forth. “But to find that in Oregon…”_ _

__“I can get it.”_ _

__“That’s right,” Mabel added. “If we make a deal, he can probably very easily find that aconifum-blahblah.”_ _

__“No.” Ford snapped the journal shut. “Quick, set up the board game. If we can finish the game before Wendy’s turn, then we have no need to find wolfsbane: the effect will end as soon as the game does.”_ _

__Obediently, Mabel set down the game._ _

__“Shoosh,” she scolded Wendy, who had resumed attempts to attack despite the barrier._ _

__Stan smirked. “It’s my turn!” Casting the dice over the board, he rolled a six, and his piece moved into the center._ _

__“Everything!” Stan declared, with more enthusiasm than a man pushing sixty should really have. But after the nightmare the game had been, he couldn’t quite be blamed._ _

__Before their eyes, the floorboards repaired themselves, the water vanished, the windows appeared, and everything in the living room reassembled itself. With a groan, the shack returned to normal. Everyone’s clothes and hair dried, all their injuries vanished._ _

__The only thing left was their exhaustion._ _

__“Phew…” Mabel collapsed on the stairs, throwing a hand above her eyes. “I think I need a break from adventures for like, a week.”_ _

__Wendy staggered out of the bedroom, her clothing torn and her eyes bloodshot. “Guys… I’m never playing that game again.” She plopped down beside Mabel._ _

__“We should probably lock away this game where no one can ever play it… ever,” agreed Dipper, the only one not totally wiped._ _

__“I’m on it,” Mabel said, and strode off with the game._ _

__“Uh, should we be worried?” Wendy asked._ _

__“Nah,” Dipper said. “Mabel’s got the best hiding spots.”_ _

__“Dipper? May I speak with you in private?” Ford inquired._ _

__Dipper tensed. “Um… yeah. Sure.”_ _

__Ford pulled Dipper aside in the hallway. Getting onto one knee, he rested his hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “Dipper, I wanted to apologize for how I reacted in my study a few days ago. It was wrong of me to get so upset with you.”_ _

__Dipper’s eyebrows shot up. Whoa. So…. “You don’t hate me?”_ _

__“Hate you? Dipper… No. No, I don’t hate you; I never hated you. To tell the truth, I was afraid. I only saw your eyes and the fire, and I saw Bill because of that. But today I saw you. You’re Dipper with demonic powers, yes, but you are still Dipper.”_ _

__Finally… _finally,_ Ford was starting to see that. Dipper lifted his gaze. “Does this mean you’ll show me your notes?”_ _

__An easy smile appeared on Ford’s face. “Of course, Dipper. I’ve got my journal with me right now in fact.” Ford pulled journal 3 out of his cloak and handed it to Dipper, a page open titled “Banishment Ritual.”_ _

__On the page Ford had depicted the initial diagram they’d used to summon, bind, and kill Bill Cipher. Following this diagram, he included an outline of all general events occurring after the ritual. The next page was dedicated to demonic signs that Dipper was exhibiting: things as obvious as his fire and yellow eyes, but including less obvious signs such as “confusion” and “loss of appetite.” Dipper flinched at that one._ _

__“To my understanding, Bill’s powers transferred to you during that ritual. I’m not sure yet how this was possible, or why it happened. However, it seems you’re in the process of some sort of metamorphosis.”_ _

__“Changing into something else?” Dipper yelped, his voice cracking nervously._ _

__“Easy, Dipper. I don’t think you have any need to fear. The true change comes with level of ability, rather than any more physical alterations.”_ _

__Dipper slumped in relief. Thank god… he didn’t want to end up as a geometric shape. But... still, all of this was more or less stuff that Dipper had already guessed for himself, or that Ford had already told him. What was the point of pretending like it was so secret until now?_ _

__Ford continued, “I project that you will continue gaining demonic traits that Bill once possessed. You may eventually be able to access the mindscape – and wield some level of control over it. How much yet is uncertain. I doubt you will gain all of Cipher’s abilities – there must have been some loss in the transfer.”_ _

__Dipper flicked through the pages to read through entries again. While Ford rambled on, Dipper began to tune him out._ _

__Something was wrong._ _

__He turned the page. Then turned back. Back and forth._ _

__Something was definitely wrong. A cold weight settled into Dipper’s gut._ _

___Oh no… Ford, no…_ _ _

__There were pages missing. Several pages missing._ _

__It was very difficult to notice. After removing the pages, Ford would have had to meticulously pick out any lingering torn paper. But Dipper noticed the way that the intact pages were uneven and lumpy at the binding. Beyond that, he just knew._ _

__Ford still wasn’t telling him everything._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahah okay, I've wanted to write a Jumanji/GF fic ever since we saw What Could Go Wrong? in the Last Mabelcorn.
> 
> Cockatrices cannot breathe fire or spit poison. I just made them that way because I CAN x]
> 
> We might get a Ford PoV chapter.... haven't decided yet. But oh boy, that guy has reasons for keeping things from Dipper. 
> 
> Also – I'm naming this AU "Transanimation AU." Picked that name since it explains the general idea while sharing a prefix with "Transcendence," which was the inspiration for it.


	7. Old Enemy; Old Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate Gideon, but he is so much fun to write. I honestly found myself speaking/thinking the entire first half of this chapter in his accent while I wrote it. …. Kinda disturbing, actually. The accent markers change a bit on purpose due to different intonation/emotion behind a given word. (:
> 
> I combined two chapters together here since neither was long enough on its own. For reference, the second half of the chapter takes place a few days after the first half.

There were plenty of ways to _not_ escape jail. Gideon knew a lot of them by now. For example, digging your way out with spoons? Much easier said than done. Sending your incompetent father to become mayor to release you? Useless. 

If you needed anything done, you had to get a competent servant to do it for you, that was a fact. Unfortunately, it was pretty darn hard to find someone fitting that description in jail, so Gideon turned to more… supernatural… means. 

For Gideon, this meant Bill Cipher. Bill had certainly failed him in the past, but he was Gideon’s only option at this point, and the child telepathic was willing to give his minion a second chance. 

From rote memory, Gideon recreated the Cipher Wheel that could be used to summon him. Then, as the prison went dark and quiet, he spoke the summoning words.

Now, Gideon fully expected to see that one-eyed triangle to pop right into the circle. 

So you can imagine his disgust and surprise when, instead of a yellow triangle, a twelve-year old boy sporting yellow eyes appeared instead.

A very familiar twelve-year old boy.

“Dipper Pines!” Gideon spat, disgusted. Now, Gideon _knew_ he hadn’t messed up that summoning! He’d done it just the way it was supposed to be done, but it sure as heck wasn’t Cipher in the circle now. “What did you do!?” Gideon screeched – Dipper must have ruined it somehow!

“Oh, jeez.” Dipper ran a hand through his hair. “Seriously, Gideon? You were going to summon Bill?”

“I’m summonin’ him, if ya’d git outta mah way!”

“ _Why_? Are you trying to get into Stan’s mind?”

“You answer mah questions first!” Gideon demanded, throwing a crumpled up piece of paper at Dipper: the paper bounced off his head and fell to the floor. “Where’s Ciphah?”

“This is so dumb…” Dipper buried his face in his hands. It was only then that Gideon really paused to take in what the Pines twin looked like. Yellow eyes, cheeks noticeably more hollow…. Strangest of all, he was floating. 

“Ohoo boy, what mess did you git ya’self in?” Gideon giggled, pleased for the first time since that irritating Pines kid showed up. If Dipper was having an awful enough time, it might even be worth not talking to Cipher after all. _Maybe._

Dipper scowled. “I really don’t want to talk about this, Gideon. Least of all to you. Honestly, I’m having a really terrible day. Week. Weeks. Life.”

He looked so miserable that Gideon almost pitied him. _Almost._

“Just let me go,” Dipper muttered. “Seriously. I don’t want to deal with you.”

“Let ya go….?” 

“Yeah, just, break the circle or something.”

A creepy grin stretched across Gideon’s face. “Ya can’t leave without mah help!”

“I-I can!”

“Hehee.” Gideon tapped his fingers together. “You’re here on mah terms. Ya gonna do as ah say.”

“This really isn’t the time, Gideon.”

“Ah’ve got all the time, Dipper Pines. _All the time._ ” This last part he whispered. This situation was turning out better than he thought! “Ya see here,” Gideon added conversationally, “I’m stuck in this jail just like you’re stuck there in that circle. So why don’t we help each other out here? Ya run along and git your demon masteh, and I’ll letcha outta this circle.”

Dipper shuddered. “I’m sorry, you think I work for _Bill?_ Haha, wow, you must really be dumb!”

Gideon looked smug. “Am I _wrowng?_ Because I don’t think I am.”

“No, it’s nothing stupid like that. I know better than to….” He trailed off.

Gideon smirked. “Right. Go git Bill.”

Dipper sighed heavily. “He’s dead, Gideon. Give up.”

“Don’t lie to me, you –“

“I’m not _lying!_ ” Dipper yelled, throwing down his hands; his eyes flared red. 

Gideon took a step back. _Interesting_. Maybe Dipper had gotten himself in a bigger mess than Gideon first thought. Hah! It was bound to happen. Gideon had known about the journals before Dipper, and only Gideon was smart enough to handle all the supernatural in Gravity Falls without making mistakes like Dipper. 

Dipper took a steadying breath and relaxed. “Just – just _un_ summon me, okay? I’m not making a deal with you.”

Gideon suddenly giggled. “Ya mean ta say _you_ can make deals? Why, that’s just _delightful_.” Gideon waved his tiny grubby hand up at Dipper. “Git me outta jail, and I won’t tell the entire town what’cha are.”

“You’re in jail. There’s no one to tell.”

Gideon gave the most evil of smiles. “I can spread your summonin’ circle around the prison, boy. I can tell all the prisoners about the _deals_ you make, and then they’ll _all_ be tryin’ to summon you. I can make your life _terrible!_ ”

“Gideon, I can’t release you from jail!”

“Can’t?” Gideon said with a disgusting smirk, “Or won’t?”

“Both! Won’t. Just – no! I’m not helping you get out just so you can be weird and creepy and pursue my sister again.”

“You free me from jail, demon, and I’ll leave your sistah alone - and keep your circle to mahself.”

Dipper flitted his gaze to the side. Gideon watched as emotions flickered across the boy’s face; the doubt, hesitation, frustration… he was so utterly readable; it was wonderful. All of this would go just the way he wanted. 

Dipper sighed in defeat. “All right. I’ll release you from jail, under promise that you will not approach my sister in any way and you will not share my summoning circle with _anyone_. Now, for payment.”

“Payment? Keeping your circle secret is payment!”

“No, that’s a condition. For payment, you’ll owe me one little favor later.”

Gideon scowled. “Fine, deal! Jus’ git me outta this place!”

Dipper grabbed Gideon’s outstretched head. For a split second, Gideon glimpsed something awful in Dipper’s eyes; a glimmer of sadism that he’d never seen before. Then Dipper tugged his hand, something yanked deep in his chest, and he was spinning through the air weightlessly.

Wait, what had just – ?

Gideon kicked his legs wildly and righted himself, only to find that he was floating several feet above the floor. What’s worse, he was staring down at his own body, which was moving all on its own… and sporting a pair of hideous yellow eyes. 

“Wh-what’s happenin’?” Gideon yelped. 

“Wow, this body sure is squishy!” Dipper poked his cheeks experimentally. “Ugh! Gideon, you’re gross! Too much cute!”

“Wh-what are ya doin’?” Gideon yelled.

“Getting you out of jail; what do you think I’m doing?” Dipper, using Gideon’s body, turned to face the back concrete wall of the jail cell. He raised his tiny pale fists as if worshipping an unseen entity. A second passed. Then, the wall burst into blue flames and ripped itself open like a gaping mouth. Chunks of concrete sprayed everywhere, and metal wires curled like teeth to bite into the outside air. Instantly the room began to flash red as the jail alarms blared; despite being in a ghost-like form, the alarms still drilled right into Gideon’s ears, and he clasped his hands over his head. 

Gideon howled over the alarms, “you’re gonna get me caught, you idiot! Gimme back mah body right now!”

Dipper stepped out of the tear in the wall, and into the moonlight. The back of the jail lined up with the edge of a cliff, but this did not deter Dipper. He knew his abilities; he knew his strength, his power. 

Still controlling Gideon’s body, he stepped out into thin air, and left the jail and the cliff behind him. He strode out hundreds of yards above the town, awash with blue moonlight and the stars sparkling overhead. Beneath him slept a hundred homes, small and dark with little windows gleaming a soothing orange.

Dipper sucked in a deep, satisfying breath.

“You let me go, demon!” Gideon raged, floating behind him. 

Dipper chortled. “If I released you now, you’d fall to your death! And then I wouldn’t get my side of the deal! Relax, Gideon. I’ll get you back down.”

Dipper mimed walking down steps, even though he was still treading in midair; the trees far below his feet became taller, taller, closer, closer, and then Dipper was descending down into the branches. A few moments later his feet landed on the springy forest floor.

“There you go!” Dipper shot out of Gideon’s body; Gideon hastily reclaimed it and patted it down as if to make sure Dipper hadn’t stolen any limbs or anything. 

Smirking, Dipper put his hands behind his head and leaned back in an invisible chair. “Relax. I didn’t steal your liver.”

“Mah – what?” Gideon prodded his stomach worriedly; when this proved futile for determining if he still had his liver or not, he turned all the fury of his tiny body onto Dipper. “You! How dare you!”

Dipper shrugged nonchalantly. “I just did what you wanted! I got you out of jail, didn’t I?”

Gideon growled – _literally_ growled. “Dipper Pines, you’re worse than I remembah!” Huffing, Gideon swung his gaze around the forest. At least that dumb Pines kid had released him from jail as promised, even if said release wasn’t subtle in the _least_. It’d be a pain to try to avoid the law from here on out, at least until he figured out a way to clear his name. 

Which… he would certainly start on, as soon as he figured out where he was. 

As if reading his thoughts, Dipper commented lightly, “we’re somewhere half past the middle of nowhere.”

“Half past…?” Gideon ground his teeth together. Dipper was trying to make a fool of him! “You! Demon! Whateva you are! Git me back home, _now!_ ”

Dipper grinned. “What? That wasn’t part of the deal!”

“Ya can’t jus’ leave me in the middle of nowhere!?”

“Relax! Take a chill pill.” With a wave of Dipper’s hand, a bottle of pills appeared in the air. Dipper scratched his chin. “You know, I don’t really know what those do, but I’m sure it’d be safe to try ‘em out!”

“You take me back to mah house!”

“Haha, bye Gideon! Don’t get eaten by werewolves!” Dipper popped out of sight, and then Gideon was alone. 

Gideon fumed. How dare that Pines boy leave him like this! How dare he possess his body, and how dare he-?

A primal howl cut through night air, and Gideon jumped. 

S-surely there weren’t actually werewolves in the woods… were there?

 

* * * * * *

 

Multi-bear was taking a nap when Dipper came to visit him. He had his hulking body curled up in a tight ball in his cave, eyes closed peacefully, and the nose of his main head wiggling from his dream of hunting.

In his dreams, the wind was rippling through his coat, the sun was hot, and the grass green. Through the underbrush before him, a swift jackalope was darting along, its white tail flashing amongst the leaves with each ambitious pounce. 

Multi-bear had no true intention of catching the jackalope – the chase brought him contentment, joy; likewise, the jackalope knew it was in no danger, and sometimes slowed just enough for Multi-bear to swipe a paw at it, only to leap away once more. 

Just as Multi-bear was leaping over a bush, the scenery changed. It was as though a grey veil was pulled over the world. The sky went dark. The jackalope vanished. Multi-bear skidded to a stop and swung his head around warily. 

There was a flash of obscene yellow light, so bright that Multi-bear had to shield his eyes –then someone swore sharply. 

Multi-bear opened his eyes to his old friend Dipper levitating above him, grumbling to himself and picking twigs out of his hair.

Hmm. Multi-bear wriggled his nose. Dipper normally had a rich earthy scent that Multi-bear always preferred over most human’s urban metallic scents. In this dream, Multi-bear could not smell it. Yet the shape was undoubtedly that of his friend… with a few changes, admittedly. The yellow eyes and slit pupils were new, along with the transparency and levitating. 

“Dipper,” he said in mild surprise. He hadn’t seen the boy since the beginning of summer… it was very odd that he would be dreaming of him now. 

“I’m uh, not a dream, actually,” Dipper said, scratching the back of his neck. He looked very awkward and uncomfortable. “I would have visited in person, but I can’t leave the Shack - crap!” Dipper scowled at the forest, half of which had spontaneously burst into blue fire while he was speaking. Pointing angrily at the trees, he shouted, “you stay trees! Don’t change!” 

As if in blatant defiance, most of the trees promptly made a cheerful ‘pop!’ sound and morphed into three-dimensional levitating geometric shapes. 

Groaning, Dipper slapped his hand over his face. 

“At least the fire is out,” Multi-bear said thoughtfully. 

“Only because shapes can’t burn! Oh, wait. Guess they can.” Dipper frowned at the slowly undulating geometric shapes that were now, in fact, on fire. 

Dipper shook his head. “Look, I didn’t come here just to mess with your dreamscape. And uh, sorry about that, by the way.” Behind him, a sassy rectangular prism giggled and exploded.

Multi-bear’s brow furrowed. “So you aren’t part of my dream?”

“Well, yes. But no. I’m in your dream, but I’m actually real too.”

Multi-bear didn’t understand. But after he had lived for so long in a place like Gravity Falls, he had gotten pretty used to things he didn’t completely understand. So Multi-bear simply accepted it and split his lips into a cordial grin, revealing rows of sharp teeth. “It’s been a long time, Dipper my old friend!”

“Too long,” agreed Dipper hesitantly. The boy looked very uneasy; Multi-bear surmised that he must have something heavy on his mind. 

One of the floating conical shapes transformed into a volcano and began silently erupting. Instead of lava, it spewed stacks of books and streams of words. In one short glance, Multi-bear caught, _‘Where are the other pages - Why is Stan dreaming about that – Mabel doesn’t have to-_

“Please ignore the background,” Dipper said tensely. 

Multi-bear turned his gaze away from the volcano. “You seem distressed. What is it?”  
He said, never one to dance around the subject. “You came here for something more than to catch up.”

“Well, it is good to talk to you again. But… there is something else.”

Multi-bear sat back on his haunches patiently. He did his best to ignore the waterfall of worries cascading behind Dipper. 

After a few awkward seconds, Dipper cleared his throat. “I think I, uh… have your cassette tape.” He reached into his pocket and procured a small grey rectangle with the letters, “BABBA” written in pink letters on the front. “I can’t really give it to you unless I see you in person, but… I’m sort of stuck in the Shack for the moment.”

Multi-bear accepted the tape, bemused. It certainly was his BABBA cassette tape. But that wasn’t exactly the news he was expecting from Dipper. “This was stolen from me many weeks ago. It would be good to have it back.” Multi-bear closed his eyes reverentially. Being a multi-bear, he didn’t exactly get that many opportunities to listen to and enjoy music; his own cassette collection was his only connection with music. “Where did you find it?”

“Yeah, I uh…” Dipper scratched the back of his head. “I might have stolen it? I don’t really know.”

Multi-bear’s main head arched a brow. “You?”

“I don’t remember stealing it, but…. I promise I’ll give it back as soon as I can.”

Multi-bear hummed softly. Perhaps there was more wrong with his friend than he initially suspected. “What matters is you wish to return it. You must have had a good reason for taking it, if you did indeed do that.” 

“Thanks,” Dipper murmured.

Multi-bear waited patiently. 

Haltingly, Dipper continued, “I think I might have stolen it as… a reminder. To talk to you. But didn’t know I wanted to? That sounds dumb.”

Multi-bear sat back on his haunches. “I’m listening.” 

“I was just thinking… You’re really intimidating at first, and anyone who didn’t know you might think you were a monster. But you’re actually really civil. You’re one of the most human supernatural creatures I’ve ever met. And, trust me, I’ve met a lot.”

“Most human?” Multi-bear chuckled. “No, I am the most multi-bear.”

“Huh?”

“Humans claim that decent monsters and non-humans are ‘like’ humans. The truth is that kindness and civility are not human inventions. My species as a whole is very peaceful. I would say that some humans are like multi-bears. Some of you have kindness.”

Dipper blinked. “Huh, guess that’s right.”

“Humans do some very terrible things, Dipper. It’s foolish to call a monster _human_ just because it is civil.”

Dipper wrapped his arms around his knees thoughtfully. After a pause, he murmured, “do you think demons can be kind?”

“Demons?”

“Yeah, like… like a dream demon. Do you think a dream demon could be human? Or um, like a multi-bear?”

“Hmmm…” Multi-bear sat back on his loins. What Dipper was telling him now might explain leagues about why he was transparent, floating, and yellow-eyed. The question was not theoretical, but personal. 

Taking this in mind, Multi-bear answered very carefully; “Every creature with a true enough soul always has the capability for kindness. It is not the body but the soul that deems one’s nature.”

When Dipper didn’t answer, Multi-bear handed the cassette tape back to him. “Keep this, for now. You may return it whenever your doubts are eased. Until then, keep it for me.” 

Long after Dipper left and the forest returned, Multi-bear remained curled up, mulling the encounter over in his mind and wondering what had happened to his friend, and what _would_ happen to his friend.


	8. Llama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Pacifica earns the last chapter from 'outsider' POVs! Mabel will get her own chapter later on, but next chapter we'll be back to Dipper's POV. (: We'll finally see what's going on in that guy's head.
> 
> Thanks for all the reviews guise (: Going back and reading them is FUEL.

Pacifica Northwest and Mabel Pines did not always see eye to eye. Though Pacifica had considerably warmed to both twins over the course of the summer (greatly assisted by Dipper's help at the mansion), their differences could at times be too difficult to surmount.

Despite this, fashion proved to be a surprising unifier of their friendship. Naturally, Pacifica regarded higher society fashion as superior to Mabel's homemade "clothes." But there were the off times that – in private, and only at the Shack – Pacifica wore the sweaters Mabel had sewn for her. In turn, Mabel found herself gifted with fancy silky dresses that, as with Pacifica, she only wore at the Shack.

These halting, uneasy first steps of friendships paved the way for one of the most meaningful relationships Pacifica had ever had in her life – not that she'd ever admit it. To be truthful, not all that many people were willing to befriend someone like Pacifica – and not many people ranked high enough in her parent's regard to remain a sincere friend for long.

Mabel was such a refreshing contrast to most people Pacifica knew. She was bubbly, full of life, so utterly unafraid of being herself – things that Pacifica both admired and resented. She would never have the same free spirit as Mabel; her heart would always be a little caged behind silver bars. Nonetheless, not even the depths of Pacifica's envy could stifle her newfound protectiveness and care for Mabel.

Even if she had to sneak out to visit the Shack, even if she never wore those sweaters outside of Mabel and Dipper's room, even if she didn't let anyone know they were friends… Pacifica honestly didn't think she could live without Mabel's friendship at this point.

And that's why she was beginning to get very, very concerned for her new friend.

It started about three weeks ago, when she received a disturbing call from Mabel.

Throughout the call, Mabel's words had been indistinguishable through her sobs, but Pacifica was certain she heard something about demons, a banishing ritual, and Dipper being gone. Pacifica wanted to drop everything at that moment and rush to comfort her friend (no matter what may have happened), but on that particular weekend her parents had carted her out of Gravity Falls for a vacation in Costa Rica.

The following five days were torturously spent without a word from Mabel or Dipper. It was only on the last day, as they were packing their things to return to Gravity Falls, that Pacifica received a second call.

She locked herself in the bathroom to stave off her parents' questions, and listened with equal parts worry and confusion as Mabel excitedly rattled off bewildering and nonsensical past events. "Dipper's back, Paz!" she had declared, giddiness practically flowing through the phone. "He came back as a dream demon – sort of – but it's all gonna be okay in the end! Ford's working on getting him all fixed up and –"

Mabel rambled on and on, barely allowing Pacifica to get in a word.

When she had to hang up at the impatient yells of her parents, Pacifica felt even more puzzled than before. What exactly was happening at the Shack? Her understanding of the situation was that Dipper had simply gotten himself into another supernatural mess, but that eventually he'd be able to work himself out of it, as he always did. She was comforted knowing that both twins seemed to be all right.

Still, she did want to stop by the Shack just to be sure that nothing too awful was going on. But even returning from Gravity Falls didn't give her a break to visit. Any time Pacifica mentioned a desire to stop by town, her parents sent a butler to escort her (most likely, the upped security was because they suspected she was associating with folk like the Pines).

So Pacifica bided her time, and waited until her parents trusted her enough to go into town alone.

In the meantime, she received updates through frequent phone conversations.

"He made a deal to cure someone's cancer," Mabel crooned in the next call. "Isn't that adorable? My bro-bro is so sweet. He's the best kind of demon."

Pacifica wasn't sure there was such a thing as a good demon. She searched for information about dream demons and Bill Cipher, but found little more than ominous, vague warnings. Her worry began to escalate.

Another day later, another call, an unhappy Mabel. "Ford's all upset because Dipper set his study on fire. He put out the fire! It was just a stupid accident; Ford should know he's having trouble with the demon thing! Now Dipper's all mopey and I hate seeing him so down. I'm gonna sew him a new sweater. Do you think I should put Bill on it? I don't want to make him feel worse, but I think it'd be cute."

In a few more days, "You wouldn't believe the game we just played! I need to tell you all about it, Paz. And guess what! I got Ford to talk to Dipper again! Mabel, queen of friendships, strikes again!"

Then there was a week-long silence. Pacifica tried to be sympathetic. Perhaps Mabel was busy. Most likely, if she were calling anyone, it would be those two weird friends of hers, Candy and Grenda. Pacifica wasn't a priority. She understood.

But she was very uncomfortable with the silence.

Then the news, never having anything interesting to report, did a lengthy broadcast based around four seconds of footage which depicted the Mystery Shack entirely aflame with blue fire – vanishing as quickly as it had come, and leaving no damage.

Pacifica was two seconds away from calling Mabel when her phone rang. She had it to her ear in a second flat.

"Mabel? Mabel, are you okay?"

Mabel laughed. "Are you kidding? I'm fine, Paz!"

"I just saw the Mystery Shack on fire!"

"Pshhh! Dipper does that sometimes, it's no biggie. Paz, guess what? That demon fire stuff can actually like, cook food! I set Dipper up with a frying pan and-"

Pacifica knew she needed to visit the Shack. It was another week before she was able to give her butler (read: watchdog) the slip.

She snuck away one morning amidst the dreadful phenomena of her parents planning a formal party, and then showed up at the dump that was the Mystery Shack (honestly, someone really needed to tear this place down and rebuild it into something worth existing).

Still, she was here for a reason. Pacifica knocked loudly on the door and tapped her foot impatiently when it was not immediately opened. This was a job for servants, really – opening doors the moment a guest knocked. It was only polite. But no, the Mystery Shack didn't have any of those sorts of people, so of course Pacifica had to stand and wait for a good two or three minutes.

Finally, the door blasted open and a bushy-haired specimen of a human being stood in the threshold. It took Pacifica two slow blinks to identity this person. Then, Mabel's exhausted face bloomed into a wide grin. "Paz!" she exclaimed and launched into an exuberant hug that Pacifica half-heartedly returned.

As they pulled apart, Pacifica noticed that Mabel's hair was messy and sticking up in all places, and heavy bags hung beneath her eyes.

"Mabel, are you okay?"

"Oh, this?" Mabel pointed at her baggy eyes. "I'm totally fine! Dipper's sort of a restless dream demon, you know." She rolled her eyes. "He still can't control the dreamscape very well, so he wakes me up on accident sometimes."

"Err, about that…" Pacifica said as she was ushered into the Shack. "How is Dipper doing?"

Mabel averted her eyes. "He's all right. A-actually, Paz, you gotta help me. I'm happy you're here. I think he's been stuffed up in the Shack too much. He's getting all depressed and woooo." She pointed at her temple and rolled her eyes.

"Why not send him on a monster hunt? It _is_ his favorite hobby."

"That's the problem," Mabel sighed. "He's… he's not the same about that stuff."

"Not the same?"

"Well, I guess he's partly omniscient or something. That's what he keeps saying, anyway. He says it takes a lot of the mystery out of monster hunts." Mabel kicked at the floor dejectedly. "It's hard to get him to do anything. So I was thinking we could take him into town with us!"

"Um, sure…"

Given all the unknowns about Dipper, Pacifica was prepared to see just about anything when Mabel lead her to their room.

When Mabel threw open the door, though, he appeared to look as normal as ever with his face buried behind a book, except for the fact he was floating a few inches above the ground.

Then Dipper lowered the book and she saw his yellow eyes. Pacifica halted in the doorway, but Mabel skipped right in.

"Dipper, you should come shopping with Paz and I! Come on, you've been up here for days."

Pacifica expected Dipper to refuse. Shopping and Dipper? No way! To her surprise, his head perked up. "What kind of shopping, Star?"

Pacifica's brow furrowed. _Star?_

"The best kind, duh! For clothes!"

Dipper glanced down at his own clothes; his usual red shirt, grey shorts, and blue jacket. A frightening expression crossed his face for a bare moment, like he did not at first recognize himself. Then the confusion passed.

Dipper sighed and stuck out his hand. Pacifica flinched when it lit afire. "I'll go shopping with you and Pacifica this afternoon."

Mabel squealed and shook his hand vigorously. Dipper shivered and smiled.

"Wait, what was that?" Pacifica asked, trying to remain calm. "Did you just make a deal?" In her research online, she'd heard a bit about deals with respect to Bill Cipher, but the sources online sure didn't make it sound very good.

"Dip's gotta make a deal if he wants to leave the Shack," explained Mabel matter-of-factly.

"Err, don't deals need two sides?"

"Pshh, yeah, but this is Dip-dop! I'll pay him back later in one way or another."

"Mabel-"

"Don't look so worried, Paz! I'll just buy him a book or something and done deal! Literally!"

"Right." Pacifica cast a chilly glance at the yellow-eyed Dipper. The vagueness of their deals – and the fact they were making them altogether – set her on edge. She couldn't believe that Mabel was taking all this so casually. Sure, he was still Dipper, but… he didn't exactly seem like his usual self.

It was with great unease that she followed Mabel down to the first floor, where the sparkly sweater-clad girl instantly latched onto Stan's hairy arm as he was restocking the Gift Shop.

"Grunkle Stan, will you take us to the mall?"

"Not now, sweetie, I'm restocking. Unless Dipper volunteers to do the rest of this!"

"But Staaaaaaan. Sttaaan pleeeeaaaasseee?"

"Ugh. Yeah, I'll do it! Just stop it with that face. Ugh." Stan pushed Mabel away.

"Works every time," Mabel winked at Pacifica.

Pacifica couldn't help being distracted by the fact Dipper was staring fixedly at the cupboard with a weird half-smirk on his lips. What was he even thinking?

Seemingly not noticing, Mabel grabbed Dipper's wrist and tugged him after Stan as they left the Shack and piled into the car.

Pacifica slid in first, Dipper after him, and Mabel last.

"I hope none of my parents' friends will be at the mall," Pacifica remarked worriedly, glancing out the window. She really couldn't be seen out and about with the Pines twins.

"Relax, Llama," Dipper said, leaning close and grinning at her. "Don't be so anxious! Wouldn't want anything stress-related to happen when you're forty-six!"

Pacifica narrowed her eyes. "What did you call me?"

Dipper blinked. A look of innocuous bewilderment passed over his eyes –for a second, he looked more like the Dipper she remembered. He apologized quickly and glanced away.

How did Mabel not mention this strangeness in his behavior? She acted as though nothing was wrong; Pacifica couldn't tell if she was holding up this front as an attempt to make Dipper feel better, or if she outright didn't notice.

When they reached the mall, Pacifica wasn't sure which drive was greater – to avoid Dipper entirely and sidle away at the slightest opportunity, or to stick as close to him as possible to ensure he didn't get into any trouble.

She went with the latter option for most of the day, by default of Mabel literally dragging Dipper along everywhere. This included pulling him into Vivian's Surprise, to his chagrin.

"Never again," the traumatized Dipper whispered as he followed Mabel out of the store.

"Oh come on; their pajama pants are so fuzzy!" squealed Mabel.

"But everything else…." Dipper said in horror.

Pacifica smirked. " _That_ is the adult female world, Dipper."

"Oh my gosh." Mabel stopped dead, eyes going round.

"What? What is it?"

"Paz," Mabel whispered reverentially. "The _candy_ store."

Pacifica followed Mabel's line of sight. "There's like, no question about this. In, now."

And the two girls bolted into the candy store.

Within seconds they were ooing and ahhing over the assortment of colorful candy available, from gummies, powders, lollipops, chocolates to caramels, taffies, truffles, and more. Mabel was disappointed they didn't carry Smile Dip, but finally settled on buying a foot long sugar stick, while Pacifica bought one Thwix bar.

It was only when they were checking out that Pacifica realized they were missing a member of their party.

"Wait, where's Dipper?" she asked, immediately tense.

"Eh?" Mabel glanced around. "I'm sure he's fine! Bet he found some nerd store. Oooh, Paz, look at this dress. It's so fru-fru!" Giggling, Mabel rushed into Eternally 21 to seize an exotic dress that, due to the excessive hoops, was probably wider than it was tall.

Mabel held it up to her shirt and swayed her hips.

Pacifica chuckled. "You're ridiculous, Mabel."

"Oh no, _this_ one. I would totally wear this one." Mabel bolted to a straight leather dress and, putting it up to herself, teasingly frolicked around Pacifica. "Ooh lala~"

Pacifica sniggered. "I don't know who even buys these kinds of dresses."

"There's always some strange ones in every store," Mabel nodded. "They may not be my thing, but I bet they're just right for someone else." Giggling, Mabel plucked at her current sweater, with an exuberant "MEOW WOW" sewed on the front. "After all, this is 100% Mabel!"

"Hey, isn't that Dipper?" Frowning, Pacifica pointed to the store across from them, where she thought she glimpsed Dipper's mop of hair.

" _O-oh_ ," Mabel grinned. "Rills Brothers."

"A little fancy for Dipper…" muttered Pacifica.

"C'mon, let's see what he's up to."

They found him drifting between clothing racks, fingering fine black suits.

Pacifica was unnerved by the incident; Mabel was beside herself with glee. "Dipper, you're finally growing up! Does this mean you'll start taking showers?"

"Demons don't need to take showers," Dipper responded monotonously. He pulled a tie from the rack, held it up to himself, then frowned and tossed it away in favor of a bowtie.

Pacifica turned up her nose so as to disguise her concern. "A bowtie? That's so not you, Dipper. You're all grungy sweaty shirts and jackets."

"Don't be silly Paz," Mabel laughed awkwardly. "Dipper's just becoming a young gentleman. They grow up so fast." She wiped away a fake tear.

Pacifica begged to differ. Dipper was certainly becoming _something_ , but it wasn't a gentlemen.

Dipper's yellow eyes curved to her and a smile played at his lips. "Hey Llama, keep your thoughts to yourself."

Pacifica froze. He'd read her mind. He'd –

"Oh my gosh, Dip-dop." Mabel was staring in horror at a suit's price tag. "This is like, four hundred more dollars than even Stan could afford."

"Do you think we can pay in gold?" Dipper asked.

"Pffh! Don't be cray cray, Dipper."

Mabel dragged the two of them out of the store, complaining that she might just drop dead if she went another second without actual food.

"Not with Mabel Juice in your system," sniggered Dipper, for a moment slipping into a more familiar demeanor.

Mabel giggled and punched Dipper's shoulder. "That's your fault, Dipper! I literally got mobbed with pink cats in my dream last night!"

"Mabel, that was _before_ I entered your dreamscape."

"Oh." She scratched her chin. "That explains why it turned into a chessboard and nerd things after that."

Dipper rolled his yellow eyes. "I told you, I need to conduct research on the mindscape-"

"Oho," Mabel imitated a stuffy dorky accent, "I'm Dipper, I need to conduct research on the mindscape, herp derp derp-"

"Haha, Mabel, that isn't what I sound like!"

"Is too!" Mabel poked his stomach. "Doesn't he sound like that, Paz?"

"Couldn't tell a difference between you two," Pacifica said slyly, internally relaxing now that Dipper seemed to be shifting back into a personality she recognized. Maybe he really was just overwhelmed about everything happening to him lately. It couldn't be easy waking up one morning as a dream demon, after all. Maybe he just needed time to level out.

They entered the food court; while Mabel ordered, Pacifica and Dipper found a booth.

"Ew, these tables are disgusting," Pacifica muttered, flicking a piece of potato off. "Do they ever clean them?"

 _Snap!_ Dipper snapped his fingers; in an instant, a fine layer of blue flames swept over the table, frying any dirt or grime into nothingness.

Ah. Right. Demon. Pacifica forced herself to take a calming breath, and she leveled her eyes at Dipper. "How about you _don't_ do that in public?" she said frostily.

Dipper cringed and muttered a quick apology – for his part, he seemed sincerely remorseful.

Mabel returned with the food, and the incident was quickly forgotten. He continued acting normally, and even joked around with his sister the way he used to. Pacifica began to think that she had just overreacted at the beginning of the day. In the middle of the meal, though, he spaced out again with a weird smile on his lips. Mabel, relating a story about a cute boy that had stopped by the Gift Shop the day before, didn't notice until after her story was finished and she tried to get Dipper's attention.

"Dipper! Dipper! Lookit me Dipper, look!"

Her twin was staring off to the side blankly, deaf to the world.

Pacifica pressed her lips into a thin line.

"Dipper, seriously, not funny," Mabel said loudly.

Just once, very quietly, Pacifica murmured, "Bill."

Dipper's head whipped around and his eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Llama?"

Pacifica sucked in a quick breath.

"Finally you're listening!" Mabel exclaimed, then stuck two fries under her top lip. "Look, I'm a walrus!"

Mabel was so oblivious. She was blinded by her love for her brother.

There was no other explanation for why she didn't see just how wrong Dipper was.

Pacifica ate the remainder of the meal in silence.

If Mabel couldn't see it, then Pacifica would have to do something.

That was how she found herself, on the earliest opportunity, at the Mystery Shack door once more.

This time, the grizzled face of Stanley Pines peered around the door frame.

"Ahh! A Northwest!" The door slammed in her face.

Pacifica closed her eyes and let out a measured sigh. Great. Of course. Rolling her eyes, she knocked again. "Mr. Pines, I have something important to talk about."

"I'm not here!"

"It's about Dipper."

The door opened; Stan peered through suspiciously. "What about Dipper?"

"I want to know what's going on."

"He – he has dysentery!"

"I know he's a demon."

"Oh." Stan stood there awkwardly for a moment.

"What I _want_ to know," Pacifica continued slowly, "is what all happened to make this come about. And whether or not Mabel is safe."

Stan opened the door wider and gestured Pacifica in. "The guy you should talk to for all that is Ford. He knows more about this dumb mess than I do."

"Ford…" Pacifica frowned. "That's your twin, right?" She remembered Mabel excitedly reviewing the greatness of having two grunkles, but the whole explanation had sort of blended together at the time, and she hadn't actually personally met this rumored second 'grunkle.'

Stan snorted. "Yeah, twin. The resemblance ends with appearance, trust me."

"Well, I need to talk to him."

Grumbling, Stan wandered into the gift shop; Pacifica followed. "He's a pain in the rear to talk to, but if you got questions about Dipper, he's probably got answers. He lives in the basement." Stan punched in a code on the vending machine, which then opened to reveal a staircase leading downwards.

"... You have a secret passageway behind your vending machine."

"Hey, I don't make the rules around here. Bother my brother about it."

"Right."

"After the stairs, there's an elevator. Second floor down, kid. And hey…" Stan glanced away for a moment. "If you can get any answers from him about what's going on, that'd be great. He's not telling us a thing."

"How reassuring."

She entered the lift and pressed "2."

An passageway behind the vending machine... She hadn't seen that coming.

The lift rattled to a stop and opened the doors. Hesitantly, she stepped into the basement room. It was like the lair of a mad man. Codes and equations and graphs were pasted all over the black-sheeted walls, and a huge computer sat hunched on the far wall.

A man with close resemblance to Stanley was sprawled over a desk buried beneath papers; writing, sketches, diagrams. The man looked beat. Hair tousled, huge bags under his eyes, lead rubbed into the pads of his fingers. He appeared to be completely passed out on the desk, which looked equal parts uncivilized and uncomfortable.

Pacifica sniffed. He needed a bath. The whole room smelled disgustingly stale. She could see the family resemblance.

"Ahem."

No response. Pacifica let out a small, frustrated sigh. "Excuse me," she said louder.

No response.

If she didn't see the steady rise and fall of his breath, she would have assumed him dead. Frankly, it looked like the man needed to sleep for about a week to make up for how terribly thin and sleep-deprived he appeared to be. But she was here for a reason, a very concerning reason, and he was not going to sleep through it.

"Excuse me," Pacifica said yet louder. "Stanford? Hello? Pacifica Northwest here? Yeah, waking up anytime in the next five years would be great! No? Awesome. Great."

Impatiently, she stepped closer and poked his shoulder. "How can you be _this_ asleep?" she muttered. Well, there was nothing to be done for it. Enough with the politeness. She leaned down, cleared her throat, and then screamed, "WAKE UP!"

Ford lurched violently out of the chair, spraying papers and pens everywhere. As he staggered up to his full height, Pacifica shrank back.

The guy wore a huge trench coat over a thick red turtleneck, and his eyes were wild beneath his glasses; his hand hovered ominously over his hip, as if to grab at a hidden weapon.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "How did you get down here?"

Pacifica stuck her chin up. " _I_ am Pacifica Northwest, and Stanley sent me down here to talk to… you."

Ford swore. "What is this, a playground? It's supposed to be a private study!"

"I care so much. I'm here to talk about Dipper."

Ford was instantly all business. "He caught Snifferus Schevius. It's a new strain of influenza that can alter moods quite dramatically. But I assure you, he's getting his medication and –"

"Oh my gosh, you are a family of liars. I'm friends with Mabel, Stanford; I know he's a demon."

"Oh. Um." Ford scratched the back of his neck.

"I want to know if Mabel and Dipper are going to be safe."

Ford went very still. "Did something happen?"

Pacifica quirked an eyebrow. "Did you _expect_ something to happen?" She rolled her eyes. "Don't take this as me being overly caring or anything, but Dipper spent more time acting like someone else yesterday. And if you want to know, he didn't respond to his own name. He responded to 'Bill.' Care to explain what's happening?"

Ford slumped against the table and brought a hand up to his face – Pacifica started when she noticed he had six fingers.

Brushing aside her surprise, she demanded, "So, will Mabel and Dipper be safe? What exactly is going on here?"

"I don't know," whispered Stanford. His fingers hid his eyes and he groaned. "This is all my fault."

"Okay, well," Pacifica said shortly, "'I don't know' isn't exactly a satisfactory answer. Should I be worried, or not?"

"No," answered Ford decisively. "No. I'll fix everything. I just - I need to work harder. I'll find the solution."

"Well, what's happening to Dipper?"

Ford lowered his hand and fixed his solemn gaze on her. "If you've spoken to Mabel, then I'm sure she's told you everything there is to know. Get out of my study. I need to get back to - I shouldn't have fallen asleep."

Nothing he said was comforting in the slightest, but Pacifica could tell she wasn't going to get anything else out of the man. Frankly, he looked ready to fall apart at the seams, and it made her anxious to be near him. The last thing she wanted was for him to get angry and force her out of the study, so she muttered a quick resentful farewell, and left for the elevator.

As it rattled out of the study, Ford slumped against his desk, shoulders shaking.

Beneath him was weeks worth of work. Endless calculations, theories, projections. None of it was going to do a damn thing. Ford let out a shaky breath. He couldn't give up. He _couldn't give up_. He couldn't.

His clenched fists loosened. His forehead met the table and he closed his eyes.

He couldn't.


	9. Dipper's Journal of Human Things

_‘My name is Dipper Pines.’_

That shouldn’t have felt so wrong to write. Like taking the point of view of someone you admired, but didn’t know well. So he tried again:

_‘My name is Dipper Pines.’_

He messed up that time: he started writing, _‘My name is B-‘_ and then he had to scratch it out furiously. But he managed it. 

Soon enough, he had systematically filled the entire first page with that same sentence. 

Licking his fingers, he turned the page and set pen to paper. _‘My name is Dipper Pines. I’m twelve years old, and my twin sister is Mabel Pines - she’s pretty much the most important person in the world. This summer we both were sent to Gravity Falls, Oregon, to stay at our Grunkle Stan’s weird tourist trap.’_

Good. No difficulty in getting those words out. 

_‘I’m human,’_ he hurriedly sketched into the margins. It was important to remember that. All too often lately, humans had seemed foreign to him. Intriguing, sure! But also distinctly something other, with their wobbly lips gulping down food, and their obligations like eating and sleeping, and their heavy bodies binding them to earth. 

Sometimes Dipper resented that his form currently resembled them. It didn’t even make sense for a being of pure energy to take a form like a human! His legs were fat and fleshy and pulsey with blood. And what was the point of all these squishy organs in his belly, if not to tear them out? He prodded his own stomach distastefully. Humans were so round, so soft and mushy like slugs. No, he couldn’t be thinking those things.

_‘Humans are not like slugs.’_

Groaning, Dipper smacked himself in the face. Had he seriously just written that? That didn’t even make sense; he was supposed to be keeping his thoughts organized –

Oh. 

Dipper blinked when, out of the blue, he knew all the uses of potassium nitrate, how to speak mermish, when a random guy in Wisconsin would die, and how to grow rhubarbs. 

He sniggered. Now, if he conjured explosive rhubarbs to tell that man in mermish –

 _‘Rhubarbs DON’T speak mermish,’_ he wrote angrily.

Wait, that last part didn’t even relate to him. 

No no no – Panic started rising in Dipper’s chest, like a cold metal hand clenching tight around his ribs. He forced it down and took deep steadying breaths. It was okay to mess up here. What mattered is that he would get better. 

Dipper rubbed his eyes. He would feel so much more comfortable if he was in the mindscape right now. He always felt more comfortable there – in the past week, he’d been getting in Mabel’s dreams almost every night. His first handful of experiences with it were clumsy and uncoordinated – objects and scenery constantly and uncontrollably shifted with his mood, sometimes leading to really horrifying situations. What’s more, he often accidentally woke Mabel up and in doing so, yanked himself out of the mindscape. 

But in time, he learned that he could alter anything, _anything_ he wanted, to make the place suit himself. Nothing in the mindscape could oppose or harm him – unless he wanted it so. Above all, he had complete and utter control over every single thing that went on in the mindscape. It was like having an entire world in the palm of his hand, and it was the place he felt most at home.

Sighing, Dipper wrote, _‘I don’t belong in the mindscape, which is Bill’s domain. Not mine.’_

Right. The Mystery Shack was his home – at least for the summer. 

The Mystery Shack, where he was currently trapped by a binding circle. 

No, he shouldn’t feel resentful. They’d done this for a reason – so he could interact with the world normally. Or as normally as possible. 

It wasn’t as if he could actually feel much of what he was interacting _with_. Beyond the shock of pain, his body didn’t register much in the way of physical sensation. Not that he minded! Frankly, physical touch was just a clumsy human construction for assessing surroundings. He didn’t need a primitive function like that – his mind was his one true sense, and the only sense he needed. He certainly didn’t have to touch a surface to judge its texture and structure – he simply knew those things about everything!”

_‘Physical touch is funny!’_

Wait. Crap.

That whole section read, _‘… This summer we both were sent to Gravity Falls, Oregon, to stay at our Grunkle Stan’s weird tourist trap. Humans are not like slugs. Rhubarbs DON’T speak mermish. I don’t belong in the mindscape, which is Bill’s domain. Not mine. Physical touch is funny!’_

Dipper tore out the paper, crumbled it, and threw it onto his bed. He let out a shaky breath. 

This whole messed up situation was really started to scare him. No, _terrify_ him. 

But he was trying to treat it as analytically as possible. He had a theory that if he became more conscious about his situation, then he could better manage his madness. That maybe he had some semblance of control in this entire mess.

It started with him mentally cataloguing his actions and personality. What parts were beginning to resemble Bill? What parts were wholly Dipper? Where was the line between these drawn? When, in particular, did that line get fuzzy – and what might be prompting switches between personalities? How could such switches be better prevented? 

But that method wasn’t exactly working well. Although some things, like the feeling of anger, triggered ‘personality switches,’ they were mostly random. So he needed another method to go along with it, and he was ever seeking newer and better ways to manage himself. 

The journal had been his latest idea. While out shopping with Mabel and Pacifica, he’d slipped off to go to a bookstore and purchase a journal - his own secret journal, like Ford’s, but for a very different purpose. It was a simple thing with a deep blue cover and smooth soft pages. Of course, on the way back to Mabel and Pacifica, he’d been distracted by the formal wear store - but still, he had the journal now. 

Unlike Ford’s, Dipper did not use his journal for documenting the supernatural. In fact, he did just about the opposite. He recorded his own humanity. 

Or at least… he was supposed to use it for that. 

Dipper shook his head. He just needed to try harder.

Starting with a fresh page, he began again, _‘My name is Dipper Pines…’_

After a brief session of chewing his pen, he fell into stride with writing. He told about his summer in Gravity Falls; about the gnomes and time traveling, about Waddles and Mabel’s sweaters, about Soos and Wendy – anything and everything about himself and his friends.

Seeing that he couldn’t get physically tired, hungry, or sore, he must have written more than he thought, because he was snapped out of his reverie only when someone knocked hard on the door to their room. 

“Mabel sweetie?” Stan voiced called in. “Phone’s for you!”

Whoa. Was it morning already? Dipper glanced to the side and saw that the sunlight had already crawled a fair way across the floor. 

“Mabel?” Stan called again. “You awake?”

Dipper tucked the journal into his jacket, satisfied with his work, and floated over to open the door. 

“Mornin’ Fez!”

Stan gave him a weird look, then shrugged. “Give the phone to Mabel, will you?”

Dipper nodded, “Will do!” He grabbed the phone and slammed the door in Stan’s face. Waking up Mabel was an interesting task. Sometimes she woke up peacefully, and sometimes she woke up like a cat on crack. 

Floating over to her, he poked her in the face with the phone. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hi. Hi. Wake up. Waaake uuu-uuppp.”

“Huwaaah!” Mabel’s fist came sailing out of nowhere and smacked into Dipper’s face – it probably would have hurt a lot more if he wasn’t so numb to everything, but he still recoiled and touched his nose tenderly.

“Ow, Mabel!”

“Oh gosh! Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I was dreaming that I was fighting that stupid unicorn again!”

“Phone’s for you,” Dipper muttered, handing over the phone and poking his nose worriedly.

“I’m so sorry – Dip, I’ll totally make it up to you with an amazing sweater, I promise.” Then, into the phone, “Hi! Mabel’s the name; glitter’s the game! _Ooh_ , Grenda!” A small gasp. “No. Way. You go, girl!”

Dipper shook his head and smiled. Typical Mabel. 

He patted the book in his jacket and nodded firmly. Even after just that one night of writing, he felt so much better overall. He’d already interacted with both Mabel and Stan in a perfectly normal Dipper manner.

A particularly sharp squeal from Mabel had Dipper suddenly plugging his ears and frowning. 

“Dipper!” Mabel whirled around to face him. “Grenda and Candy are having a super special sleepover tonight! Starting like, now! Um, is that okay with you? I can totally stay here if you need me…”

She wanted to leave the Shack…. Right… She hadn’t hung out with Grenda or Candy since the whole Bill incident happened – which was a really long time for her to go without seeing her friends. 

A twinge of guilt settled in Dipper’s chest. All this time she’d been looking after him, and he’d selfishly kept her from her friends. Surely he’d be fine one day without her, right? Well, one day… and a night… and a fair portion of the next day. 

Really, though, she deserved a break! She was already being so selfless by hanging around him all the time since the ritual.

“You go ahead,” Dipper said, hoping his forced smile wasn’t too fake. “Maybe I’ll hang with Soos today! We’ll explode hot dogs in the microwave and stuff.”

“If Stan doesn’t make you work in the Shack,” giggled Mabel, then pressing her ear to the phone, “Yes, Grenda, just working out the details! Shhyeaah you can expect me! Oh yeah. I’ll be there!”

Hanging up, Mabel turned her attention back to Dipper and rested her small hand over his. “You’re sure you’ll be all right?”

“I’ll be fine, Mabel! I’m not a little kid, y’know.”

“You’re a whole five minutes younger than me! Whop whop.” 

“Ha-ha. Go on, Mabel. Have fun with Candy and Grenda. You haven’t seen them in forever.”

“Just wait ‘til I show them the new romance novel I bought yesterday,” Mabel said dreamily.

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!”

Dipper floated awkwardly in the center of the room while Mabel rushed around packing things into her glittery pink suitcase. 

“All right, that’s everything!” Mabel snapped the suitcase shut after a few minutes and leapt on top of it. “To fantasy and romance I go!”

“Uh, there’s not going to be actual romance happening, is there?”

“Oh yeah, baby! Candy already started a self-insert story with Ryan, that handsome hunk from _Dapper Gents From the Stars_.”

“Suddenly I’m both more and less worried.”

“You worry too much, bro-bro. You know, Wendy’s working the register today. Maybe you two could chill!”

“Mabel, you should focus on the sleepover, not me.”

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Okaay. Help me lug this downstairs.”

“Carry, _that_?” Dipper bit out a laugh. He placed his hand over the suitcase and promptly teleported it to the border of the binding circle before teleporting back. “Done! It’s right by the porch.”

“Whoo! Always knew those demon powers would come in handy.”

Ah, right. Because humans couldn’t teleport things. Dipper sniggered. It must be terribly inconvenient, stuck like that!

“Hey Dip? I’m gonna see if Stan can give me a ride over to Grenda’s place. You doing okay?”

“Yeah, fine!” Dipper grinned wide, and Mabel punched his arm.

“You know I’ll be back tomorrow, bro-bro! I’ll have your cool sweater done by then!”

“Huh?”

“Your _sweater_ , Dipper! You didn’t forget I’m making you one, did you?”

“Um, no, of course not.”

“Good. All right, off to Grenda’s. Woohoo, romaannnncceee!” Mabel leapt squealing down the stairs.

Dipper followed her down, smiling. He hoped she never changed, even if she could sometimes get on his nerves.

He waited with her on the steps until Stan was ready to take her out to Grenda’s, then Dipper wandered back into the Shack, unsure of what to do with his afternoon. 

He’d never really had the trouble of finding something to do before in Gravity Falls, but then again, he’d also always had the journal with him. Now he had the journal memorized front and back. Literally. At some point in time the detailed knowledge of every page had ingrained itself in his memory. Sort of killed the purpose of reading it. 

Dipper sighed and drifted into the kitchen. The Shack didn’t feel right without Mabel in it. But he could do something. Humming, Dipper opened the silverware drawer and removed all the silverware, preparing to methodically place them into their proper respective locations. This process went uninterrupted until he passed Wendy working in the Gift Shop on his way to the axolotl’s tank. 

“Hey, dude!” Wendy called out. “Where you going with all those knives?”

“Um.” Dipper glanced down at the fistful of knives. “I don’t really know.”

“What?” Wendy laughed. “Hey, anyway, how’s the demon thing going? Did you get any other wacky powers?”

Dipper wandered over to the counter and set down all the knives; Wendy was quick to place them underneath the counter where he couldn’t reach them. 

“Not any useful powers,” Dipper muttered. 

“Rough morning, huh? Where’s Mabel?”

“Out at Grenda’s.”

“You can hang with me today,” Wendy shrugged. “Seriously, the register gets so boring.”

“Stan would kill you if you left the register.”

Wendy snorted. “Aw, what’s he gonna do? He can’t fire me; no one else would take the job.”

Dipper laughed. “Wonder if he’d try to get Soos to do it.”

“Not sure if I’d feel bad, or count that as a victory.”

The bell above the door rang, and a group of sunburnt tourists wandered in chattering loudly. Dipper slowly sat on the stool in an effort to pretend to be normal and act like he hadn’t just been floating a moment ago. “Hey, Wendy? Can I ask you something?”

She shrugged. “Shoot.”

“When you turned into a werewolf and attacked us… What did it feel like? In your head? I mean… did you recognize us?”

Wendy’s brows shot up. “Why’re you asking about that, Dipper?”

“I just… want to know.”

“I don’t know, man. It was like one moment I was myself and totally fine. Then the next moment I was covered in hair and then this violent bloodthirsty NEED to KILL just took over!” Wendy laughed. “To be honest, I still get cravings for rare meat. But totally worth playing that game with you guys. It was literally the coolest.”

“So… you couldn’t stop it?” Dipper asked.

Wendy snorted. “No, but…” then her eyes widened. “Aw, Dip, is this about the demon thing? Those situations are totally different! You and Ford will get it figured out. The guy’s crazy smart.”

“Sixer is just human. What can he do?” Dipper grumbled bitterly.

“Whoa, Dipper, he’s doing the best he can.”

Dipper choked out a laugh before he knew what he was doing. “Real cute, Red, but if you think a mere human can stand up to what I - to what _Bill_ is?”

Wendy flicked her eyes to the tourists wandering the shop. “Hey, maybe now’s not the time…”

Dipper reeled back, a grin flashed across his face. “Now’s now the time, huh? Then when? When are you all gonna admit that _none of you can stop me_?”

Wendy’s hands clenched stiffly above the counter. Her face had gone pale; behind Dipper, the tourists were whispering and pointing. 

Wendy said nothing. 

“Sorry,” Dipper blurted to Wendy, and teleported away.

He reappeared in his room, which he promptly tore apart in search of a pen. He needed to write in his journal. It would remind him of what he was and so much more importantly, what he wasn’t. Shaking with frantic energy, he threw open the journal cover, poised the pen over the page, and then froze. 

This page was already written in. 

He couldn’t stop himself. He began to read.

_‘My name is Bill Cipher. I don’t think I’m human. I’m scared. Please someone help –’_

_‘My name is Bill Cipher. I don’t remember how old I am. I’m a dream demon.’_

_‘Name’s Bill Cipher! The totem pole was trying to tell you something all along! Aliens know about the LRRR! Nothing will save her soul, and YFKAFKD ZFOZIBP TFII KLQ IXPQ CLOBSBO!’_

Then jagged triangles carved so hard into the journal that the page had been shredded and -

Eyes.

Eyes everywhere scrawled across the page.

Triangles and eyes.

Eyes _everywhere_ , and Dipper could see out of each one; he could see his own tear-streaked and horrified face, from ten different angles all at once – he could see a thousand, million, other people, lives, happenings, across time and space, all reflected through triangle eyes.

Dipper dropped the journal and recoiled with a cry, but the images did not abate. He saw the construction of the pyramids, he saw the crossing of the Rubicon, he saw millions of oppressed people walking to their death in the furnaces - he saw things that terrified him and that he did not fully understand; beings and creatures existing outside of normal ability to comprehend, monsters that were inhuman and of different realms – and monsters that were far _too_ human.

A vicious need to be rid of this terrible all-seeingness seized Dipper. Without thinking, Dipper’s hands leapt up to his face and he raked his nails over his own eyelids – anything, _anything_ to get the images to stop – he needed them _GONE!_

The images persisted, assailing all his senses, flooding his mind - snarling in ferocity, Dipper forced his eyelids to flutter open. Without hesitation, he sunk his nails into the soft moist tissue made available there. Instantly, a yowl he barely heard was ripped from his throat - his brain felt like ice, his spine contorted backwards, and he was in more pain than he’d ever felt in his life, but finally, finally it was blinding him, it was an end to seeing everything!

Galvanized by this promising symptom, Dipper let his fingers lurch deeper into his eye sockets; he thought he was crying but couldn’t be sure – it was hard to tell with all the liquid squelching around his fingers.

And then the visions were gone. 

All sight was gone.

Energy spent, Dipper slumped in midair, sliding his dripping fingers from his eye sockets. He couldn’t see anything, but he wasn’t overly concerned. Seeing nothing was better than seeing everything. 

Pain was still spasming from his head down his neck and spine, and tingling weirdly in his toes. Who knew that ripping out your own eyes could lead to pain all around your body?

Sighing softly, Dipper drifted down until he was laying face-up just above his bed. 

Panting hit his ears, and he realized it was his own. 

Maybe he should stop keeping the journal.


	10. Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was impossibly difficult to write for some reason.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, be amazed by the horrible, the disgusting, the appalling – mer-snake! Tail of a fish, body of a snake! Augh, look how horrible it is! Hey, you! No touching, can't you see the sign!? Yeesh."

The tourists flocked around the object in question – a rotting fish tail poorly glued to the head of a snake that Stan killed on the porch yesterday. Really, not the worst attraction he'd ever made. The scales nearly matched, too. Nearly.

The oohing and aahing tourists snapped several pictures.

It was at this moment that a multi-toned screech of agony sounded from the room directly above the museum. Coming from Dipper and Mabel's room, then. And based on the unearthly ring to his scream, he was feeling a bit more demon than human. The noise set Stan's heart racing painfully in his chest – not because Dipper sounded like a demon, but because he sounded hurt, and that mattered a helluva lot more.

The tourists, unknowing of the resident dream demon, huddled together and looked about nervously.

Stan cleared his throat. "And uh, that is the poltergeist haunting the Mystery Shack! If you leave money on the floor, he'll pick it up at a later, unspecified time!"

"Sounds reasonable," the tourists nodded to themselves, and began setting dollar bills on the floor.

"Yeah!" Stan crossed his arms approvingly. "That's right; come back tomorrow for another twenty bucks and the floor will be clean! Spooky, right?"

A second yell rang out, this one of frustration – and this time through the floorboards. Huh. From the basement, then. Ford.

"It spoke to me," one of the tourists breathed, eyes round. The other tourists crowded her in awe.

"Yeah, they uh – money makes 'em scream!" Stan hesitated. "That came out wrong."

Frowning, Stan tapped his foot on the ground. The heck was going on with Ford and Dipper? Only one way to find out, really, and he couldn't delay or he'd get an early heart attack from worry. "All right!" he shouted at the tourists. "Out, out, out! Your twenty bucks covered twenty minutes, tour's over! Come back tomorrow!" He shooed all the tourists out of the Shack; most of them were still muttering in worship about the Girl Who Was Spoken To.

Stan grumbled as they left the Shack. Now, all he needed was someone to take in the next group of people…. Turning around, he saw Soos humming and fixing a broken shelf.

"Soos!" Stan yelled, pointing at the handyman. "You take the next tourists. Tell them you're a slime alien! Get them to stick money on your body!"

Soos saluted. "Yes, Mr. Pines! I will go where I am needed!"

"That's the attitude I like, Soos!"

Better check on Dipper before Ford. Dipper was likely to need him more, and Ford was likely to be an elusive recluse. Dipper's bedroom door was closed when Stan reached it, and Stan couldn't hear anything from the other side.

But hey, privacy. "Hey, kid?" He rapped the wood. "Not dying in there, are ya? Cuz then I gotta call your parents and that's a mess I don't wanna deal with!"

No response.

Stan's brow furrowed. He knocked again. "Uh, Dipper? Seriously, kid, this isn't funny."

No response.

"All right, I'm coming in!" Stan declared, twisting the doorknob – only for Dipper's voice to shriek from the other side –

"Don't come in!"

Stan hesitated. "You okay in there?"

"I'm – I'm fine! You don't need to worry about me! Really! I'm uh, I'm naked! Yeah. Don't come in!"

Stan's brows rose. Oh. So the kid was…. Stan coughed. "Yeah. Good talk, Dipper. Um. You uh… yeah." Scratching his back, Stan wandered back downstairs. Good thing he'd had the 'why am I so sweaty?' talk with Dipper. "Stellar parenting, Stan," he commended himself, puffing out his chest. Now all that was left was to tackle Ford…. Ugh.

Maybe for once Ford would actually let him in on what was going on. Stan snorted. Nah. That loser was way too self-absorbed. But Stan could at least drag him out of the basement for a bit – sounded like he needed a break.

Muttering about his brother's ungrateful shenanigans, Stan punched in the code for the vending machine and wandered into the elevator.

"Level two, land of my hermit brother," Stan grunted.

The elevator opened to Ford's study; the place looked frankly depressing with low light – why didn't Ford ever install any of his extra-special skin-softening light bulbs down here? Prick. Went and invented something like that so the family fawned all over him. Snorting, Stan geared himself to give Ford a loud talking-to.

But when he actually saw his brother, he forgot his intentions entirely.

Any words he had prepared died at his lips. His long strides came to a faltering halt.

Ford was not at his desk. He was instead curled up on the floor, knees to his chest, and arms wrapped around his legs. He was crying.

Not like most people – not loud, or red-faced, or puffy-eyed. Ford cried silently, with an expression on his face that would have been apathy on anyone else. Like he was used to crying alone, and being quiet about it, and he didn't want to make any big fuss, he just had to sit with the world pressing in for a little bit, and get out what the emotions in his body demanded. It occurred to Stan how diminutive Ford looked, helpless in a sea of papers and trembling in his huge coat like a little kid.

And honestly, he had been a little kid when Stan last saw him cry. And that was a long, long time ago.

Somehow, Stan's instinct had not changed at all. He found himself moving forward, extending a gentle hand, kinder words forming at his lips –

Only for Ford to shove his hand away and skitter to his feet, eyes wild. "What did I tell you about disturbing me in my work?" Ford spat.

Metal bars slammed down over Stan's sympathy. Somehow it still hurt when he lashed back, "Work? You call crying in your study _work_?"

He regretted the words immediately, because Ford's expression immediately converted to a clinical detachment. He wiped his eyes and straightened his shoulders. Ford didn't show his hurt - he dismissed it. "Stan, I need the phone number of Dipper's parents."

"What!?" How did that even relate to anything that was –

"I'm going to call them."

" _What?_ Are you crazy? When did you last sleep?"

"That doesn't matter right now. They need to know what's happening with Dipper."

"Ford, Dipper's parents don't even know you're _alive_ – and what, you're gonna call them and tell them his son is a demon?"

"That's _exactly_ what I'm going to do. They need to know the truth. Better to hear it now than get him damaged at the end of the summer."

Stan recoiled, curling his lip up. "Damaged? That's your nephew you're talking about!"

"Not anymore, Stanley. It's high time I stop pretending anything can be done about him. What matters now is managing the damage. I need to do what's right for all of us."

Stan's heart plummeted. "What the hell do you mean by that?!"

"The number, now."

"No! You're not telling them anything! You're gonna march your butt back to your desk, hole up like you always do, and figure out a goddamn answer to the mess you made."

For a second, it looked as if Ford was going to argue. As if he was going to refuse. Then he closed his mouth, and his eyes sweltered. "Fine. I'll have an answer."

Both twins stomped away from each other, convinced the other was out of their mind.

***********************************************************************************************************************

Dipper lost whatever connection to time that he had once had. Floating above his bed, he simply existed, blissfully blind, and outside of reality. A few minutes could have passed, or a few hours, or a few years. Even a couple hundred decades wouldn't have amazed him.

He fell into a lazy stupor that that was the closest he'd gotten to sleep for a while. He saw nothing, and thought little. He let his mind drift. The subjects that he perused were a lazy mixture of Dipper-thoughts and Bill-thoughts. For once, he did not try to take either side. He did not try to feel conflicted about one side or the other. It just was as it was. Sometimes he grazed over memories from Gravity Falls, sometimes he brushed over unearthly places and monsters. It all felt equally the same to him.

"Hey, kid?"

Huh. What was that? It was outside his thoughts. Frowning, Dipper tuned into the gravelly voice.

"Uh, Dipper? Seriously, kid, this isn't funny."

Of course he sounded familiar! That was none other than Fez! Dipper opened his mouth to warmly greet Fez, when a jolt of pain zapped through his eye sockets. The welcome twisted into a grunt of pain; it was at this point his eyes began to reform, growing from his optic nerve, stitching together his cornea, plumping out and filling the socket.

"All right, I'm coming in!" Stan's warning voice came from the other side of the door.

Fear surged in Dipper's chest. If Stan saw this - "Don't come in!" Dipper shrieked, then let out a moan and clutched his face. It hurt it hurt it hurt -

"You okay in there?"

_Fff – just go away!_ The pain intensified - "I'm – I'm fine! You don't need to worry about me! Really!" _ow-ow-ow what will get Stan off my back?_ Dipper blurted the first thing that came to his mind: "I'm uh, I'm naked! Yeah. Don't come in!"

Whatever it was, it seemed to do the trick. Stan called out an awkward farewell and his footsteps descended the stairs – Dipper groaned. Whatever. He'd rather Stan believe that about him than walk in on what was actually going on.

This process of his eyes growing back didn't feel much better than the process of gouging them out in the first place, and Dipper bit his wrist to shut up the sounds that wanted to escape his mouth. At last, all the liquid and gunk crusted on his cheeks peeled away; the soreness around his eye sockets eased.

When it was over, he blinked experimentally. The all-eyed vision didn't return. He was back to simple binocular vision.

This wasn't something the human body could normally do…

And his eyes hadn't regenerated with his will. It just happened, and he hadn't been able to control it. So… his body would take action to heal or preserve itself, with or without his prompting.

"Like any immune response," Dipper muttered. "Just… works a lot faster." And did inhuman things like regrow eyes.

On one hand… that was a very good thing. On the other hand… Shouldn't he be a little more freaked out by this?

He'd effectively torn out and regrown his eyes. So, why wasn't he freaking out? Why wasn't he screaming, or in shock?

Rubbing around his eyes, Dipper glanced down. The journal was splayed open on his bed with the spine bent backwards, and blackish blood dotting its cover. Dipper sighed softly. So his ability to clean up all the blood off himself didn't extend to other objects. Great.

God, this was all so wrong. He shouldn't be in this mess. He was supposed to be a being of pure energy, unaffected by –

No, that's… something felt wrong about that statement. Dipper snorted. Well of course! He wasn't exactly wearing the sort of body suitable for a being of pure energy. The whole human façade was unnecessary – like yeesh, two eyes? He really only needed one, when his true ability lay in seeing with his mind!

Nonono. Dipper clutched his hair. This was his body. He wore it because that's how he used to look, that's how he _should_ look –

But he hadn't always floated, hadn't always had these abilities – those were the new, invasive things, those were Bill's, those –

A laugh ripped itself from his throat. New? New!? Hah! As if he hadn't used those very same abilities an infinite number of times in the past! As if he hadn't ripped apart dimensions, slain humans, scorched the earth, turned people into pineapples and cities into cats!

And Dipper had the audacity to call his powers new! Bill laughed. Pine Tree had never understood anything about him! From the start, he'd been a clueless little kid tripping around supernatural things he didn't understand!

Hah, like that first deal with Pine Tree -

Bill suddenly cried out and clutched his temples because his vision bifurcated – he saw himself wearing that pine tree had he always did, with such delicious fear in his eyes, and the words on his lips " _Just one puppet?_ " At the very same moment, he saw himself cackling and floating, fire in his palm, reaching out to seal the deal, a deal that Dipper didn't trust but that sounded reasonable and –

Screaming, Dipper covered his eyes. The discordant vision was whisked away along with the dual memories of that awful deal.

"Okay…" Dipper breathed out slowly. "I'm seeing Bill's memories now. Okay. That's okay. I'm o-"

Twisting around, Dipper made as if to throw up, but found he couldn't. He had nothing to throw up. His body wasn't even tangible enough to do that unless he conjured something to vomit, but that was just gross.

"Eugh…" Dipper hid his face behind his arms. His weird chunky light-skinned arms. Yeah.

Oh god, he needed Mabel. He couldn't make it a night without her. She needed to come back with a huge smile and she needed to call him bro-bro, Dip-Dop, Dipper – anything that would remind him of who he was, anything he could use to convince himself that he was –

"Dipper!" screamed a gravelly voice downstairs, "Dinner!"

Dinner? Had that much time passed?

He didn't have to eat, but Mabel always insisted he join the family at every meal to make him feel as normal as possible. He wanted to yell down at Stan that he wasn't coming down today, but Mabel wouldn't be happy about that. She would want him joining the family like Pine Tree would. Like Dipper would. Like he would. Right.

It'd make him feel more normal. It was something he used to do almost every day before… before this mess.

"Coming!" he yelled down the stairs. He let out a shaky breath and then floated over to examine himself in the mirror.

His eyes looked a little red and swollen, but… at least they were there. Still just as yellow as before he gouged them out. Dipper stuck his tongue out at his reflection. "Hate you, Bill." After a moment of thought, Dipper made the swollen redness around his eyes disappear; nonchalantly, he added 'voluntary body modifications' on the list of abilities he now possessed. Attempting to change his eye color was met with failure – Dipper added 'with limitations' to his mental list, and left his bedroom.

Drifting downstairs and into the kitchen, Dipper found Stan sitting at the table alone, jabbing his potatoes so violently that it looked like he was practicing for a particularly violent murder.

"Uh, you okay, Stan?" Dipper settled himself into a sitting position an inch or so above his chair.

"Thirty years of my life to bring your great uncle Ford back, and nothin's changed. Not a thing." Stan decapitated his broccoli angrily. "I always hated broccoli."

"He's uh, not coming to dinner, then?"

Stan sighed and shoveled potato into his mouth. "You know what kid, I don't know how to break this to you. I'm not good at sugar-coating. So I'll just say it outright. My brother thinks we should call your parents."

Dipper tensed. "Call my parents…. why?"

Scowling, Stan averted his eyes. "Because Ford is a dumb screw-up."

"Stan…"

"He's worried about you, kid. Just wants them to know what's going on."

Dipper stilled. "He doesn't think he can help me."

"Kid, that isn't what…" Stan sighed. "All right. Yeah, he doesn't have any ideas yet, but –"

Dipper's vision went white. He jolted out of the chair. "N-no, no, he _has_ to find a way!"

"Easy, kid. I told him to get back to it." But something still wasn't right in Stan's demeanor.

"You don't think he can do it either," Dipper breathed.

"I just, think it might be practical to give them a heads up!" Stan chuckled bitterly. "'Course, what'd we ever tell 'em? They'd never believe us. No, it's better to keep this quiet." He said it like he was trying to convince himself, and terror built beneath Dipper's ribs. Both Stan and Ford thought he was a lost cause. That nothing could be done.

"No, he has to find a way," Dipper insisted. If Ford couldn't help him, nobody could. And if nobody could, that meant he'd be stuck like this… forever. And not just for his own life span, oh no- he had a strong feeling he wouldn't get a reprieve like that. This was forever. Forever, eternity, permanently, stuck as some horrible amalgamation of him and Bill, never ending, only worsening, never having a solution – or worse, if this kept degenerating, if he forgot himself entirely, if -

Dipper clutched at his chest, heaving so hard that it was almost laughter because _god no Ford couldn't give up -_

"Dipper, Dipper!" Stan was out of his seat and grabbing Dipper's arm, "He's trying to find a solution! It's just – stay calm!"

And then Dipper really was laughing – probably crying too, he couldn't tell but _he hadn't slept in weeks_ and he couldn't handle this for another week, forget a lifetime! "Oh, IQ's trying to find a solution, huh?" Dipper laughed hoarsely. "Thinks he can stop this, huh? That's real cute, Fez, but your brother never knew _anything_!"

"Dipper, calm down!"

"He is and always has been just a dumb human messing with things way above him! He did this to me and now he doesn't even know how to fix it!" Dipper reared back so that he looked down on Stan, and he sneered while tears streaked down his cheeks and his clenched fists trembled. "He never knew anything!" Wrenching his head back, Dipper unleashed a scream that echoed through the house, a scream that gained several tones, that sounded less like his voice and more like someone else's – flames gathered in his clenched fists, crawled up his arms -

The scream twisted into words, "“I҉̙̻̮̫̼̦ d͍̝̥on'̴t͠ wa̧̮͖n͕̣͖̩t t̼̠̯o b͝e _H͈IM̠͞!”_

A shockwave blasted out from his body; the windows shattered, the Mystery Shack shuddered. Fiery blue energy assaulted the borders of the binding circle, which buckled and quavered beneath the onslaught.

Even this was not enough, even this could not satiate the panic and rage building in Dipper's chest – the binding circle was too constricting, like wire bars eating into his skin. Grinding his teeth together, arching his back in the air, Dipper fed power into his flames – downstairs he heard Ford scrambling to get to the kitchen – as if to stop him! With one final wave of fire, the binding circle exploded into nothingness.

Dipper vanished.


	11. The One Fewer

After Dipper’s departure, a grim silence fell over the house. Stan staggered back, broken glass crunching under his feet. The entire place was trashed in a wind that Stan had never truly felt, and the windows were now gaping empty. It had all happened so _quickly._

Stan’s potatoes were now pitched across the room and cooling on the floor. Chairs were overturned, the curtains shredded. Stan could do nothing more than gape. Distantly he heard the vending machine open, then Ford’s racing steps.

“What happened; what did you do?” Ford spat, skidding to a stop in the kitchen. 

Stan ran a hand through his greying hair, mouthing words without saying anything. 

“The binding circle,” muttered Ford, “it’s –?” Turning on his heel, he raced out of the kitchen. Stan heard the front door slam, and his brother’s horrified cry. 

If this was what the Shack looked like, then Stan could imagine that the circle painted by Mabel was now ruined as well. Ignoring the upturned chairs entirely, Stan sunk to the floor. 

How could things have gotten this far?

He should never have let Dipper keep his brother’s journal. He should never have let Dipper wander alone outside the Shack. He should have put a stop to this supernatural mess before Dipper ever had the chance to get mixed up in demons and deals and –

This place was evil. Gravity Falls was evil. It wasn’t made for children, nor for adults. Stan didn’t need to know everything about the supernatural to know just the depths of its evil. It had taken away his twin brother for thirty years, and returned a stranger. And now it was going to tear apart Dipper and Mabel. The beautiful twins that had warmed his heart so much when he first laid eyes on them. Seeing them together in their mother’s arms, he’d actually felt something like hope. Something proud and happy and beautiful. He saw in their large inquisitive eyes a future that was stolen from him and his twin. 

But Stan had been selfish. He’d welcomed them into Gravity Falls, knowing the dangers it held. He shouldn’t have let them near here. He should have never laid eyes on them again, because he was a part of Gravity Falls’ taint now.

The front door slammed. 

Ford came storming in, eyes afire. “You let him loose.” 

“I should have sent them home the moment they found your journal.”

“What happened?”

“I should never have let them come.”

“You told him what I told you, didn’t you?”

Stan sighed, tilting his head up. God, his brother looked terrible. “The kid’s smart as hell, Ford. He’d figure it out sooner or later. He’s too much like you. Without all the asshole-ness.”

Without answering, Ford dropped down behind Stan. His back reclined warmly against Stan’s, comforting aside from the tremors running through him. Stan feared saying anything else, because this was the closest his brother had voluntarily gotten to him since returning from the portal – not including fights. So this gesture wasn’t half bad for two aging twins with too much of their lives spent away from each other. 

But then Ford whispered softly, like the tenderest kiss of death,

“Bill’s reincarnating.” 

Wind whistled through the shattered windows. The floorboards creaked. Night was closing in.

Ford continued flatly, “Bill is not immortal because he _can’t_ die. It’s because he always comes back. During the ritual, Bill used the very words Dipper was speaking as a channel to enter his mind – to bind himself to Dipper… or his host, if you prefer that term.”

Something icy cold settled in Stan’s chest. He wanted to stop Ford from speaking. He didn’t want to hear this. Ford pressed on,

“The instant Bill’s physical projection was destroyed, Bill fully took over the host body – both physical and mental aspects – until he is able to fully regain his energy. It can take days, weeks, months for him to reach his full potential… but it is inevitable that he will.”

Stan tilted his head forward and buried it in his hands.

“Dipper died during that ritual, Stanley.” Ford’s voice broke at the end. There was a pregnant pause. 

“This whole time…” Stan whispered.

“It was Bill. Believing himself to be Dipper, yes. But always Bill. He’s… shedding Dipper’s consciousness, however. As he gains strength, he is able to shed away the host’s attributes and reassume his own.”

A fragile murmur, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“At first, I didn’t know… And once I did, I was arrogant. I thought I could find a way… but…” The façade Ford carried – the detached scientist’s façade – crumbled, and his words choked off. 

“How long until…?”

“I don’t know.”

“Give a goddamned estimate.”

“Days, weeks? There’s no way to know. Last I saw, he still believed himself to be Dipper, and he’s… fighting off his own influence. He’s trying to resist his own reclaiming of power.”

Stan stood up sharply and stalked out of the kitchen. Ford sat on the floor for a long time after, six fingered hands splayed open under his own lost gaze.

 

For her part, Mabel did not hear about anything that had transpired that night.

She occupied the evening with musings concerning how one learned how to kiss, fantasies about hunky boys, romance novels, and make-overs with Candy and Grenda that most certainly ended with far too much make-up and hair standing inches off her head. An odd foreboding had settled in her stomach early in the evening and never quite left, but she did her best to ignore it – after all, it was most likely lingering worry about leaving Dipper alone for a day or two. 

At around three AM, when the exuberant energy of pre-teen girls finally exhausted itself, Mabel collapsed into her sleeping bag and closed her eyes. She struggled to sleep. Something felt off. But she shook away the feeling and eventually slipped into a dreamless sleep.

The following afternoon, Mabel returned to the Shack, still giddy from the sleepover, and itching to share some stories with Dipper (stories that he most likely would try to flee from, but hoo boy he wasn’t getting outta these!).

She barely noticed that the Shack didn’t have any windows – in Gravity Falls, strange and weird were pretty normal occurrences. 

But then Stan met her at the porch and ushered her into the Mystery Shack, his smile too polite and his eyes too strained. 

It’s the worst feeling in the world when adults know some awful thing you don’t, and they don’t spit it out right away because they’re trying to find the right words and the right time… but you know they’re gonna say something terrible, and you know you’re not gonna like it. So all you have is the dread of waiting. 

Feeling paralyzed, Mabel silently followed Stan into the kitchen, where he sat her down – Ford was already waiting at the table. 

“Mabel, sweetie…” Stan said, and Mabel knew she was going to hate whatever he had to say. 

“Where’s Dipper?” 

His eyes looked as though they had aged twenty years. Helplessly, “Mabel…” 

“Where is my brother?”

It was Ford that finally released the dam. “Mabel, Stan and I were discussing calling your parents last night. Dipper… heard about this, and didn’t take it well. He destroyed the binding circle and we haven’t seen him since.”

That… wasn’t as bad as Mabel had anticipated. A smile quirked hesitantly at her lips. “Well, that’s all right, isn’t it? He’ll come back. He’s just gotta be his Dippy self and mope for a bit.”

Ford and Stan exchanged worried glanced; Mabel felt out of the loop. “You were gonna call my parents?” she tried hesitantly. Maybe their unease had to do with that? It wasn’t really that bad that Dipper broke the binding circle, was it? 

“Actually,” Ford seemed to leap onto the topic with relative enthusiasm, “we did, Mabel. We have kept this quiet from them long enough, and it was high time that we told them everything that has happened.”

Mabel let out a nervous laugh. “What? They’re not gonna believe all this demon stuff. What are you gonna tell them?”

“We still aren’t sure…” admitted Ford uneasily. “We told them… Mabel, we told them we don’t know where Dipper is. They’re on the way to the Shack now, and we think they’ll want to take you home after all this…”

“It doesn’t look good,” Stan butted in. “No one outside of Gravity Falls is gonna believe what happened. Far as the outside world is concerned, Dipper is missing and I have no good explanation as to why.”

“Whoa whoa….” Mabel let out an uneasy laugh. “Um, why don’t we just wait this one out? I mean, Dipper just left, right? He’s gonna come right back, and then Ford can fix him up, and there’s no need to let my parents in on this like, at all…”

“Mabel, we aren’t sure if Dipper will-“

“He’s coming back,” she crossed her arms. “He’s my brother. He’ll always come back.” Spinning on her heel, she stalked up to her room and slammed the door. 

She knelt beside her bed, hands clasped together, eyes closed. She’d never really learned how to pray, not exactly, and she wasn’t so sure about that. But if she just thought of it as a conversation with her brother, for her brother, that didn’t make it so weird. 

“Dipper?” she said softly. “Stanley and Ford told me about what happened. But I guess you already know that cuz you kinda know everything. Or almost everything. I’m still not really sure which one of those it is.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Stop being a stupid butt and come back. I know I can see you without the circle, even if they can’t. So just, drop in and let me know you’re all right?” 

She imagined the cackle of flames, and her heart skipped; she leapt to her feet, a grin upon her face, certain that her brother had come to her summons -!

But when she looked around, it was to an empty room. 

Her legs went weak. Tears welled in her eyes. Dipper wouldn’t ignore her. He’d come right away. Maybe he couldn’t hear her. Did she need to be sleeping for this? She hadn’t ever gotten her head around how dream demons worked. But it was true he’d often visited in her dreams. 

That was it! She should just wait until he came in her dreams, and they could talk it out! Dipper was probably full of his doubt-y Dipper feelings. Blaming himself or feeling guilty and confused. But Mabel wasn’t going to give up, and she was going to show him that he had no reason to fear. 

Nodding, Mabel flopped onto her bed. Now… all she had to do was fall asleep. No problem. She never had had sleeping troubles like Dipper. It was just like one, two, three. Several seconds passed. Mabel worried at her bottom lip. Anytime now. Sure, it was midafternoon, and not exactly the ideal sleeping time but still. She could do this.

She glanced over to Dipper’s bed. Empty. Made up all neat and tidy, without Dipper’s silly ghosty-self floating above it. 

“He came back last time,” Mabel reminded herself. And he’d come back again. He was her brother, after all, her twin, the other half of her soul. So of course he’d come back. 

But still Mabel couldn’t find sleep. 

Sighing, she slipped off her bed and wandered over to Dipper’s; her hands skimmed over his neatly made sheets. He hadn’t slept here in weeks – but that hadn’t stopped him from staying by her side at every night regardless. 

Wait… Mabel tilted her head to the side. Something was crammed between his bed and the bedside table. Mabel dug her arm into the crease, her fingers hunting about until they landed on paper. Was it one of the journals? 

Mabel grasped the paper and tugged it out of the crease; the book fell closed in her hand. Unlike Ford’s journals, this one was a deep blue similar to the color of Dipper’s old hat, although it had some weird creepy black stains on it. So… he’d been keeping his own journal?

It felt sorta wrong to root through his stuff, but at the same time, it wasn’t exactly fair that he’d left her like this either. She opened the cover. From the instant her eyes latched onto the first words, she couldn’t stop reading – and she read every line of the pen, from the very start My name is Dipper Pines to the very end, the jagged mess of triangles and eyes.

By the time she reached the last written page, tears were plunking down over the journal. 

This entire time she’d been marginalizing his struggles. She knew he’d been having a hard time… but she thought if she just stayed optimistic and treated him the same, then he’d get better. Then he’d realize him being a dream demon didn’t make any difference. She had never wanted to admit that it wasn’t about him being a dream demon. It was about him being Bill Cipher.

And that scared her. All of this had scared her, from the very start. She wasn’t dumb, or oblivious. She knew her brother, probably better than anyone else in the world. So it had been glaringly obvious to her when his behavior started changing. From the very first day that he’d returned to the Shack, she’d known that he wasn’t like himself. That there was something distinctly, ominously, off. And that it had been getting increasingly worse. 

But she didn’t know anything really about demons or monsters or those complex theories Dipper always toyed around with in his head. All she knew was that she loved her brother loads, and she wasn’t going to let him suffer alone.

And now he was probably scared and uncertain… and alone. Dipper alone was never a good thing. 

Snapping his journal shut, Mabel nodded in resolution. 

There was one method she hadn’t tried, but that pretty much had to work. 

Rifling through the room, she salvaged a few crayons, and a couple of scented candles. She hoped Dipper wouldn’t mind Pink Hibiscus. Of course, now there was the matter of actually sketching out his summoning circle and chanting those Latin words. 

Except she couldn’t remember the details. “That’s okay,” Mabel assured herself, “I can probably do it from memory… probably.”

Clearing a space on the floor, she started with the broad circle and sketched Bill in the center. “Then there was little symbols all around… Perfect. Um. Close enough. Right.” She stepped back. “Um… I summonus magister mentium! Err. Demonus brotherus come hitherus!” Mabel slumped. “I don’t know Latin,” she whined at the summoning circle. “Why can’t you be easier to work? Like, if there was a electric switch somewhere?” 

Unsurprisingly, there was no switch. Mabel sank to her knees. “Dipper? I don’t really know Latin, and I don’t know all this stuff you and Ford do. But I really really miss you… Stan and Ford are really worried, and… so am I. Please, Dipper. We aren’t a family without you.”

She didn’t expect it to work, not really. 

So when the room began to leech into grey, she leapt to her feet, eyes wide.“Wohoo! Mabel power, it worked!” But it wasn’t Dipper that appeared in the middle of the circle. Mabel recoiled. “Bill!” 

“Shooting Star,” he greeted with glee, kicking his little dark feet up in midair. 

“Bill!” Screaming, Mabel grabbed the nearest object (a lamp resting on the dresser) and chucked it hard at Bill. 

The object phased right through him and shattered against the wall. 

“Why’d you have to go and do that?” He complained.

“I thought you were dead! You’re supposed to be dead! Where’s my brother, you monster?” She picked up various odds and ends and chucked them at him – each just as useless as the last. 

Until she picked up his journal and threw it.

“Hey!” Bill zoomed to the edge of the summoning circle and caught the journal, curling his triangular body around it protectively. “Mabel, this is mine! You can’t just throw it.”

Mabel lowered her trembling hands. “D-Dipper?”

“Yeah, it’s me! Who else, seriously? Mabel, throwing the journal is not cool. Not cool at all.” He snapped his fingers and the journal vanished in a flare of blue. 

“W-Why do you look… like him?”

Dipper crossed his little black arms and furrowed his single eye. “Like who?”

“Like Bill! You look like Bill! Dipper, why?”

Dipper rolled his eye. “Wow, Shooting Star. Are you really that dumb?”

“D-dumb?”

“Who else would I look like?”

Mabel sniffled. “L-l-like my brother.”

The temperature in the room dropped. Dipper slowly uncrossed his arms. His eye curved down and took in the sight of his own splayed fingers. He let out a single, soft, “ _Oh._ ”

“I-it’s okay!” Mabel rushed to say, because she could see his panic building. Her sweater suddenly wasn’t warm enough for the room, and her breath came in little frosty puffs. “It’s not big deal! Just, just change back, right?”

“I didn’t even realize….” 

Mabel fisted her sweater nervously. “It’s getting really cold.”

“Why didn’t I notice…?”

“Dipper, please – mfh.” Mabel bolted into the circle and twined her fingers with his. She squeezed his hands consolingly. “Dipper, it’s okay…”

All right, it was a little creepy having her brother talk to her through the (literal) shape of someone she really didn’t like. But his comfort mattered a little more than hers at the moment. 

“It doesn’t bother you?” Dipper said uneasily.

“Not at all! Whop!” She poked his bowtie just to prove her point. “No matter what, you’ll always be my bro-bro.”

Dipper was quiet for a moment. Then, “but what if I’m not anymore?”

“What? Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m serious, Mabel.”

“Dipper, what?”

“I’m scared. I’m really scared.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of, everything will be f-“

“Stop saying that!” Dipper reared away, fire igniting around his fists. 

At her scared look, his fire dwindled and extinguished itself.

“I feel like I’m not human anymore,” Dipper admitted.

“Well, you are a half-demon,” Mabel said matter-of-factly.

“It’s not that, though. Mabel, I’m losing my mind!”

Mabel rubbed her fingers together nervously. “Well, how can we stop that?”

“I don’t think we can, Mabel. It’s like…. I’m starting to see things all wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“People are... weird. Fleshy. I keep thinking my name is Bill.”

Mabel gave a nervous laugh, but her eyes were terrified. “You’re Dipper. You’re my brother.”

Dipper curled tighter into himself. “I don’t think I can be Bill Cipher and your brother.”

“You’re not him!” Mabel suddenly shouted; Dipper jumped. “You’re not, you’re not him! Stop saying that! Stop!” 

Mabel rained her tiny fists down on him, though he barely felt the pressure. She ended in tears, her face buried against his bow tie and her shoulders shaking with her sobs. 

“M-Mabel…” he whispered helplessly, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry….”

“We’ll repaint the binding circle,” sniffled Mabel. “We’ll convince our parents to let us stay here. Everything will be all right.”

“Our parents…?”

Mabel shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Here, I’ll get started making a binding circle in our room, just for tonight. Oh, and we better tell Ford and Stan you’re back!”

“Wait!”

“Huh?”

“I… Mabel, I don’t think I’m really ready to talk to Ford and Stan again.” Dipper poked his fingertips together. “I… at least want to be able change back before um. And I need some time to think about some stuff.”

Mabel chewed her bottom lip nervously. She would much rather get Dipper settled into the Shack as normally as possible and as soon as possible… but if it made him more comfortable to be away for a little longer, that was okay too… “But I can summon you whenever I want?” Mabel tried.

Dipper glowed a bright yellow that Mabel interpreted as a bit of his old good-natured spirit. “Whenever you want, Mabel! I’m not gonna leave my sister alone.”

Mabel offered a watery smile. Dipper just needed some time, that was all. “All right, Dip-dop! Maybe next time you can try out my new cookie recipe!”

“Mabel, I don’t eat-“

“But coookiieeesss! Stan won’t try them because he thinks they’ll kill him, but you’re a dream demon, so I bet you’ll be fine!”

“That’s not at all reassuring.” The worried look was a little satisfying to see in Bill’s eye. 

Giggling, Mabel scuffed out the circle with her foot and said her goodbyes to Dipper, who promised he just needed a little time in the mindscape before he was ready to return to the Shack.

Mabel returned to her bed and curled up around a pillow. 

Her dreams were uncharacteristically dark; twisted distortions of her and Dipper in younger years; of them playing and laughing until his laugh tore into dual tones, and his eyes blazed yellow, and then fire ripped apart their surroundings – even still, she reached through the flames and strained to grasp his hand, but his laughter rang in his ears and he was ever flitting out of her reach. 

Mabel jerked awake before daylight, chilly sweat on her flesh and pupils dilated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever but I love you all! Hehe, next chapter is one of my favorites. I really hope to finish up this story soon since I'm about to get swamped with work, yikes.


	12. Mix the Chemicals Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so dang long because I got sick and didn’t feel like doing much for several days. But alas, ze chaptair ez here!

It was eleven o clock on a Thursday night when Mrs. Pines received the call from her husband’s uncle that her son, her beloved little son Dipper, was missing. Through a gruffy voice stricken by emotion, Stanford confirmed all Mrs. Pines’ worst fears about that good-for-nothing hermit. 

“He’s careless, thoughtless, negligent!” she ranted to Mr. Pines as soon as she hung up the phone. “He’s gone and let Dipper roam about unchecked; it’s no wonder the poor boy got lost! Oh, I feel sick to my stomach, just sick.” She paced frantically back and forth.

Mr. Pines was a little less concerned. “Maggie, honey, I’m sure he’s just off wandering the woods as boys will do. I did the same thing at his age.”

“They haven’t caught word of him for hours, Phillip. _Hours_. I’m calling the police straight away.” 

Mr. Pines tried to talk her out of such extreme measures (after all, he too recollected the lure of the forests of Gravity Falls). But Mrs. Pines would not be swayed – instantly she phoned the Gravity Falls police and – despite their overall nonchalance towards the case – she made them promise to begin looking for Dipper immediately. Although the Sheriff she spoke to (some man by the name of Blubs) admitted he knew Dipper well and needed not a description, Mrs. Pines nonetheless went on a lengthy tirade to explain exactly what her precious little boy looked like. 

“You set men onto this immediately,” she demanded at last. 

“Ma’m, this ain’t the city. We only got a few men – and one of em’s me!”

“Well, then you get on to it!” She hung up the phone in a huff and promptly began throwing things into a suitcase to head out to Gravity Falls.

“Now, honey, don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little?” 

“Overreacting!?” Mrs. Pines’ voice cracked in the middle, and she launched into a loud rant that simultaneously derided Stanford and fretted over Dipper. 

“There’s only a few more weeks until summer’s end anyway,” Mrs. Pines finished snappily. “Our kids have had plenty of time to run amok at your uncle’s place. They’ll be perfectly happy to return home now.”

“If you say so,” Mr. Pines conceded. 

So they floored their way to Gravity Falls, Mr. Pines convinced there was nothing to be worried about, and Mrs. Pines leaping to the worst conclusions… while never quite landing on the reality of the situation. 

 

*********************************************************************************************************************************************

 

Mabel wasn’t the only one with the idea to summon Dipper.

Ford also attempted it. Three times. 

Each time Dipper felt that same tug in his chest – but responding to that sensation was no longer an inevitable thing. His strength had increased to the extent that he could ignore it when he wished. So every time he glimpsed into the Shack and saw it was Ford, he brushed off the pull.

He didn’t mean to be directly rude, but Sixer was sure getting on his nerves. More than usual. More than normal. Dipper clenched his fists. He could be a real pain. It’d be a lot funnier to just set his coat on fire and watch him darting around like a chicken with its head cut off!

Anyway… he wasn’t ready to talk with either of his great uncles. They’d both just fuss over him and make him even more worried – not to mention he still felt guilty about behaving the way he did. 

So he had holed himself up in the mindscape, which was as dull and greyscale as usual – but exceedingly familiar nonetheless, and not too terrible a place to stay at. He had Mabel’s soul dangling by chain from the tree branch beneath him, and the BABBA cassette tape comfortingly resting in his palm, all while he invested some effort in turning himself back into the human form that was _supposed_ to be familiar to him. 

Meanwhile, he was unknowing of how worried his absence was making both Stan and Ford back at the Shack.

“It means his power is growing,” Ford muttered. “Ideally, we could summon him and trap him as we did before… it would at least buy us time.”

“Trap him?” Stan snorted. “That didn’t seem to stop him before.”

“Do you recall the first ritual? I used both the binding circle and a chant… the chant lends strength to the circle. It isn’t a guarantee, but it should at least hold him…” Ford tapped his lips. “But none of this matters if we can’t get him here.”

“So wave around the journals. Play Disco Girl. Do _something_ that’d snag that kid.” Okay, maybe not the most brilliant of ideas, but exhaustion was really weighing on his brain.

“You’d be better off to talk about the apocalypse, or the death of small kittens,” Ford conveyed, with more seriousness than bitterness.

Stan crossed his arms. “Say what you will, but I think there’s enough ‘Dipper’ in his head to-“

“Hi Grunkle Stan and Ford!” Mabel skipped into the kitchen; Ford quirked an eyebrow.

“Mabel, what are you doing awake so late?” he inquired.

“Late? Grunkle Ford, it’s eight in the morning. And I’m up for some good ol’ Mabel juice. Looks like you two could use some! Whop!” She jumped up and booped both of their noses.

“You’re in an oddly good mood for the situation…” remarked Ford.

“It’s Mabel,” Stan answered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just can’t explain it.”

“Well, that is true,” Mabel admitted, “but I’m in a good mood because it turns out Dipper is totally all right!”

Her declaration was not met with the optimistic enthusiasm she expected. On the contrary, the mood in the room dropped instantly: Stan and Ford jolted as if shocked and immediately set about firing out questions - “How do you know – what happened – did he speak to you-?” that left Mabel both startled and unsettled. She clutched her just-retrieved Mabel juice to her chest nervously. 

“Whoa, whoa! Don’t look so worried, guys. I summoned him of course! And he showed up and apologized for everything, but he’s pretty embarrassed about his behavior, so he’s not really ready to show himself around the Shack much yet.”

Ford and Stan exchanged a look that Mabel didn’t understand, and it made something cold go through her body.

“E-even better,” she trucked on, “I woke up pretty early this morning, so I was Mabel-able to finish my sweater for him!”

Her words were doing absolutely nothing to relieve the chill in the room. Wasn’t all this good? So why did they look so anxious? 

Neither Stan seemed to know what to say at first. Then Ford knelt on one knee, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Mabel, be honest with yourself. Did he seem like himself? Like he was normal Dipper, and happy?”

She avoided his eyes. “Well, he’s struggling with the whole dream demon thing but I mean, he’s getting better about it…”

“Is he?”

Silence. What kind of questions were these? 

“Mabel, you need to be honest. It’s for your brother’s sake.”

“I don’t know.” Mabel shrugged. “I guess he _was_ kinda odd, but I mean… he’s got some pretty weird stuff going on. He’ll totally get better.”

“There’s no way to guarantee that. For his own good, I need to trap him in the Shack. He’s ignoring my attempts to summon him. Mabel, you need to do this for me. You need to get him into the Shack and trap him.”

Mabel yanked herself away from Ford’s hand. “What? You don’t think he’s gonna do something like – like Bill, do you? Cuz he’s _waaay_ not about that. That’s like if you asked me if I loved iridescent human-sized hamster balls and I said no – I mean, what? I wouldn’t even be myself.” She fell silent, heart racing under her ribcage. Cuz Dipper wouldn’t be really dangerous. Ford _couldn’t_ think he was. “He wants some space, that’s al,” she added.

Ford hesitated, and Stan cut in, “Mabel sweetie, hate to say it, but we gotta do what Ford says. He knows all this supernatural nonsense best.”

“Well, I know Dipper best,” Mabel retorted. 

“I know Bill best,” Ford shot back. 

The back of Mabel’s legs hit the chair behind her. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but she found no words. Ford’s eyes were hidden behind his glasses.

Stan jolted, twisting towards Ford with a protest at his lips – but Mabel was running out of the room before he could say a single thing. She bolted back to the comfort of her bedroom, where she curled up on the floor and yanked her purple sweater over her head. Little sniffles emerged from the bundle of Mabel and sweater. 

“I wish you were here, Dipper…” she whispered. To help her out of Sweater Town like he always did. 

But now she was supposed to help him, and she was so scared. 

She’d never been so afraid of failure.

Whimpering, Mabel curled tighter into herself. She heard the door quietly open and close; heavy steps neared, and then someone was kneeling beside her.

“Hey,” came Stan’s gruff voice. His thick knuckles brushed her shoulder in a half-hearted punch.

“Go away,” she muttered. 

“I gotta tell ya something. My brother doesn’t think we can get Dipper back.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Mabel grumbled, her own voice muffled by her knees.

“’Course not. But you know, I bet my brother didn’t think my grumpy old butt could get that portal running either.”

Silence. Mabel’s eyes tentatively peeked out from the collar of her sweater. Stan wasn’t looking at her; his expression was distant and wistful. “I bet he’d think a good for nothin’ knucklehead like me could never do something like that. Thing about you and I, though, is we’re dang determined when it comes to our family. We don’t have the smarts, but we’ve got just about everything we need.” 

Stan’s eyes refocused on Mabel, who had gently uncurled out of Sweater Town. His expression gentled, and he ruffled her hair. “Point is, if anyone can get your brother back to normal, it’s you.”

Mabel smiled and blushing, picked at the hem of her sweater. “Do you think I should do what Ford wants?”

“That’s up to you, sweetie. Not sure if it’s doing the kid much good hanging around alone, though.” Stan stood. “Anyway, better try to get my own brother in control, hah!”

As he headed out of the room, Mabel uttered a sincere but quiet, “thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” grumbled Stan, but a teeny smile quirked at his lips.

In the newfound silence of her bedroom, Mabel pondered over what he had said. It sure would be nice to have Dipper back at the Shack, and not so mopey. He’d seemed pretty insistent on alone time, though…. But how much alone time did he really need?

The brother she knew wouldn’t leave her alone for days. The brother she knew would need someone to pull him back to himself. 

So… she’d have to do just that. 

Smiling, Mabel leapt up and bolted over to her dresser. Yanking it open, she tugged out a neatly rolled sweater, purple as the one on her torso now. She’d make everything right. 

Trotting downstairs back into the kitchen, she found that it was now empty. A furrow forming in her brow, she migrated into the Gift Shop, where Wendy gave her a lazy wave.

Meanwhile, Stan was at the door, grumbling at a bunch of tourists. “The poltergeist’s taking a break today, come back tomorrow! Yeesh, don’t you guys ever relax? Look, fine, all right, I’ll get Soos on it.”

He herded the tourists inside. “Buy stuff, and Soos’ll be quicker!”

He spotted Mabel and hurried over. “Never thought I’d want to turn away business,” he muttered, “but without Dipper stocking the shelves, seems a little wrong.” Shaking his head, he went deeper into the house to look for Soos.

Mabel meandered over to the cash register. 

“Dipper bolted the nest, huh?” Wendy said over her magazine.

“Yeah, but I have the perfect gift to get him right back,” Mabel said, squirming. “Look at this!”

She laid out her sweater over the counter. It was the product of many hours of hard work, and she’d made it to be just right. Its purple color perfectly matched her own sweater, and “Dipper” was sewed on in rainbow colors just beneath the collar. Rather than the stars decorating Mabel’s sweater, Dipper’s had little pine trees, like a cute little forest. Beneath his name, Mabel had done her best to include in rainbow letters, “Mystery Twins Forever.” 

A grin split Wendy’s lips. “Dude, I would pay money to see Dipper in this.”

“Don’t let Stan hear you say that. Anyway, it’s just for this special occasion. You haven’t seen Ford, have you?”

“Grumpy Grunkle Number Two? He snuck past the vending machine a few minutes ago.”

“Mmkay!” Mabel tucked her sweater under her arm and leapt off the stool.

“Hey,” Wendy said quickly, then winced. “Uh, Dipper’s gonna be all right, yeah?”

“Uhhuh.” Mabel smiled encouragingly before turning and darting behind the vending machine (much to the intrigue of the tourists present – she heard one asking Wendy if that attraction cost extra).

She wound her way down the floors to Ford’s study, where the said paranormal expert was already hard at work preparing for Dipper’s presence. 

Mabel wandered in uneasily. Wow, he… he’d really gotten into it. He’d cleared away all the paper and stuff from the center of the room, and swiped away the carpets, all to make room for huge diagrams painted onto the floor. It felt like that ritual all over again.

Mabel hugged the sweater close to her chest. “I’m ready.”

Ford nodded curtly. “I’m nearly finished. Stan should be here in a few minutes.” 

“Shouldn’t we make the circle bigger? There’s not really much room for Dip-Dop to move around.”

“You can make a bigger one for him later, pumpkin,” came Stan’s voice from behind her. 

She smiled as he walked by and noogied her head. “Soos taking care of the tours?”

Stan snorted. “’Least enough to earn me a few extra bucks. How’s it going, Poindexter?”

“Just finished.” Ford folded his hands behind his back. “Mabel, whenever you’re ready.” 

 

*********************************************************************************************************************************************

 

Deep in the mindscape, Dipper had managed to resume Pine Tree’s appearance. The weird fluffy vest, the fleshy body, flat dorky teeth – everything! The whole works! It didn’t exactly feel right, but he knew Shooting Star would be pretty dang proud at any rate. 

He was just considering looking in on her to see how she was doing, when he felt another one of those tugs in his chest. _Another_ summoning? People really didn’t know how to respect a demon’s privacy!

Scowling, Dipper visually flicked through several triangles within the Shack before managing to glimpse through the one summoning him. Wait, no – that was Mabel kneeling at the edge of the circle, not Ford. It seemed like only a few minutes since she last called him, but time was finicky thing.

Well, if it was Shooting Star, that wouldn’t be too much of a bother! In fact, he could show off that he wasn’t... well, geometrically inclined anymore. Not that there was anything wrong with having a triangular body.

Closing his eyes, Dipper let himself get yanked into the summoning circle – always a somewhat unpleasant sensation. He appeared with an ostentatious flash of white light.

Grinning, he spread his arms. “Mabel, look, I got down the appearance thing!”

She met his grin with a bright smile. “Dip-Dop! I totally knew you c-“

_“Hunc dominum mentium non mortalem huic loco alligo!"_

Invisible chains clenched around Dipper’s chest; a gasp forced itself from his throat as binds tied down and stunted his magic. It was worse than asphyxiation, worse than any physical sensation – because his very mind was being oppressed, assaulted, caged –

Dipper twisted back, gripping his chest, because he _remembered_ this. He remembered this happening before, and it wasn’t a _fond_ memory either. In fact, he _really_ didn’t like that memory.

Dipper gritted his teeth. How had he not realized? They weren’t in the bedroom. They were in the basement. Ford stood by the table several feet away, eyes cold as flints, and Stan lingered beside him, looking less certain.

“Hoho, look at that,” Dipper grinned crookedly. “The Pines family, all assembled against me, _again_. Not gonna try that ritual a second time, are you?”

“Dipper!” Mabel’s insulted squeak snapped his attention to her. “Don’t talk like that! Seriously, sorry about the small circle – I can make you a bigger one later, I promise.”

That’s when he realized it, albeit after a moment of delay. “You knew. You knew they were going to do this.”

“W-well, yeah, but it’s not a-“

“After I told you you could summon me whenever you wanted! Why would you trap me? Mabel, you tricked me; I can’t _b̸̛͝elie҉v̴͠e͟ _you!”__

__“Dipper! Dipper, it’s not a trick, look – I made you a new sweater -“_ _

__“Mabel, give your brother some space.” Ford’s hand clapped down on her shoulder and tried to tug her away._ _

__“Let me out!” Dipper demanded._ _

__“It’s temporary,” Ford said, at the same time Mabel rambled, “I’ll make a bigger circle, I pr-“_ _

__“It’s not about t́ḩat̶,” Dipper cut her off, “i̕t’s̸ abòu͝t ̢you̸ guy̕s ͠tra̧p̡pi͜ng͟ me ̸li̸ķȩ ̸some d̸e͘mǫn ̨and n҉o̢t͠ ̡yo̡ur͠ ҉br̀o̸t̵h͏er̡!”_ _

__“Dipper, Dip-dop, please relax!” Tears sprang to Mabel's eyes. "I didn't know it would bother you this much!"_ _

__But now even Stan seemed eager to get Mabel away from him; “Mabel, he’ll calm down, come on sweetie, you don’t need to see-“_ _

__Dipper clenched his fists. Why’d they all look so scared? Why were they all backing up? When he slammed his fists against the invisible barrier of the binding circle, he realized perhaps one reason why – his flesh had ripped away to reveal the body that he felt so much more familiar in. Fierce amusement ripped through him. “W̢hat̢'s͏ ̛wr̀o͢ng,͞ Sixer? Dͬid̻͎ͥͮͪ̕ ýà m͌issͣ̾̓ me~?” Then he wrenched his head up. “Well, well, Red! How long have you been standin’ there?”_ _

__The three other Pines whipped around to see a very uneasy-looking Wendy lingering awkwardly in the doorway._ _

__“What are you doing down here?” Ford exclaimed. “This is _supposed_ to be a private study!“_ _

__“Shouldn’t have put the entrance in the main gift shop,” Wendy answered. “Also – totally don’t mean to interrupt, dudes, but I just welcomed Mr. and Mrs. Pines into the Shack. Thought you guys might wanna know.”_ _

__Stan swore under his breath._ _

__“Ooh, the family!” Bill rubbed his hands together. “C’mon, introduce me!”_ _

__“Everything okay down here?” Wendy added._ _

__“Stellar, Red. Except _m̡y ǫwn f̨ami҉ly_ decided to bind me. Wanna lend a hand?” Bill sprouted four more arms and waggled them hopefully._ _

__“Mabel, Stan,” Ford directed, “you two go back up with Wendy. I’ll keep an eye on… Dipper.”_ _

__As Stan ushered out a very worried Mabel and Wendy, Ford turned grimly back to the trapped demon. Bill narrowed his eyes._ _

__Fine. So Sixer thought he could keep him here forever… but there was one little thing he’d overlooked..._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, let's be real. I can't stop making jokes to myself about how ridiculously not private Ford's study is in this fic. It is one of the few things I made without much explanation just to be plot-convenient (another being Mabel and Paz's friendship hehehe). But like... I keep getting these mental images of Mabel just throwing huge parties down there and having a blast while Ford gets all flustered and anxious about his workspace. 
> 
> Oh but uh yeah, Resurrection. Children in pain. Agony. Suffering. x]


	13. The Binds That Break Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, this chapter took forever due to a two-day travel period back to America, a week long trip in another state, and then the re-starting of both my jobs. In short, I’ve been busy as hell. 
> 
> Also, I didn’t manage to reply to any comments on the last chapter – by the time I got to checking them, it was already several days later and I felt that I may as well just reply to the ones on this chapter instead. Nonetheless, I did read every comment, and I greatly appreciate your support! Stay awesome, friends

When Wendy, Stan, and Mabel emerged from Ford’s study, they found that the twins’ parents had already ushered themselves into the Gift Shop. 

Both stood huddled together in the center of the room, eyeing all the merchandise dubiously, with a suitcase at their feet. Mrs. Pines was pale and thin, with her strawberry blonde hair pulled up in a no-nonsense bun. Her face was well-disguised with make-up. Mr. Pines, meanwhile, bore a little more weight than might be strictly healthy, and he shared his kids’ messy brown hair. The easy-going look in his eye suggested his gentle nature; this contrasted sharply with Mrs. Pines’ thin downturned lips.

Together they made a haphazard couple, but they were Mabel’s parents. After everything that had transpired in the basement, running to them was almost instinctual. Nearly in tears, Mabel crossed the room and buried her face in her father’s stomach.

“Mom, dad…” 

“Mabel, my little angel,” her father crooned. “It’s so wonderful to see you again.”

“At least _you’re_ safe,” Mrs. Pines asserted.

Stan hung back, having the sense to look guilty. 

Wendy leaned in and whispered in his ear, “so uh, they don’t know about the whole demon thing?”

“Not a word of it.” Stan grunted back.

“Ah.” 

“Got any good lies?” 

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

“We aren’t staying long,” Mrs. Pines said brusquely, clearing her throat to interrupt Wendy and Stan’s little chat. “Phillip and I will be speaking with the police officers here to make sure they’re thorough. After that, we will comb the woods ourselves. He can’t have wandered too far, I hope…”

“Oh, yeah, the woods…” Stan tugged at his collar. “Uh, look, I’ll be honest with you guys: looking for Dipper isn’t going to do much good.”

The tension in the room thickened. Mrs. Pines tensed. “Stanford, tell me he’s not…”

“No! No, no, hah…” Stan’s eyes flittered around the room nervously. 

“Maybe we can tell it over some coffee? Juice?” Wendy suggested. To Stan she added, “Think you could knock them out?”

“Then we got a worse situation on our hands,” Stan grumbled back. He smiled wanly at the Pines parents. “Coffee sounds great! Want coffee? Coffee’s great for ya, healthy for the heart, keeps me going at this age – coffee it is!” He bolted into the kitchen.

“And who are you?” Mrs. Pines directed at Wendy, as they followed at a more reasonable pace.

“Friend of Mabel and Dipper’s,” Wendy answered. “I work here at the Shack.”

“And Stanford, would you call him an irresponsible employer?” Mrs. Pines asked in a lowered voice.

“Uh…” Wendy flashed back to the number of times Stan had tried to cut her pay without her knowledge, or slipped merchandise in customer’s bags only to demand payment as they walked out the door – or perhaps the fact he often ‘forgot’ to pay Soos, or maybe that one time he’d attempted to convince Wendy to quit school so she could work over fall. “Nope,” Wendy said loudly. “Stan’s just about the most responsible person you could work for.” 

“He always gives bonuses for hard work,” Mabel agreed heartily, wiping her eyes. “In the form of stickers!” This prompted a muttered comment from Wendy that the Pines parents luckily did not catch.

“I see,” Mrs. Pines said coldly. She settled herself at the kitchen table and looked very stiff. Mabel slid into the chair next to her, smiling in the sort of way that suggested how nervous she was underneath.

“Stanford, we’re very sorry to bother you,” Mr. Pines began amicably, leaning against the counters. “I’m sure our little Dipper is fine, after all. I remember when I used to wander about in those woods for hours!”

“Yeah.” Stan poured several cups of coffee shakily. “Wouldn’t happen to remember anything uh, weird about those trips, would ya?” Because Philip remembering the supernatural would probably go a long ways towards him accepting the fact his son was now a dream demon. Yeesh, Stan needed to get away from the supernatural. It put him in cruddy situations like this. 

“Weird….?” Mr. Pines rubbed his chin. “Weird how?”

Stan grumbled and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I’m too old for this.”

“Ghosts, zombies, the Gobblewonker…” Wendy rattled off, bored-like. “And oh yeah, that one time the wax figures came to life… And the Shape-Shifter, yikes. That was somewhere between insanely cool and insanely terrifying.” 

“Unicorns,” Mabel muttered darkly.

“Paranormal weird?” Mr. Pines tried, earning a scathing laugh from his wife.

“Right in one,” Wendy agreed. “You were here as a kid? Then you gotta remember all the kooky stuff that goes on around here.”

“Excuse me, but what do _you_ have to do with finding our son?” Mrs. Pines snapped. 

“Whoa man…. I get it, I’m not part of the family.” Wendy lifted her hands in surrender. “Back to the register it is.” She stuck her hands in her pockets and slunk out, casting a worried glance at Stan and Mabel as she left.

“All right,” Stan grunted. “Happens that the kid was telling the truth. Sounds hard to believe, but all kinds of supernatural stuff happens in Gravity Falls. I tried to keep your kids away from it as much as possible, but yeesh, those two. You turn your back for one second and they’re fighting zombies!”

Mrs. Pines leaned over the table. Her eyes were smoldering. “Stanford Pines, I don’t believe you. My son has gone missing, and you sit us down for tea and coffee to tell us fairy tales.”

“Look, hear me out. I know it sounds crazy, but you gotta believe me. It’s because of all this supernatural stuff that your son is…” While hunting for a word, Stan realized that instead of putting sugar in the coffee, he had added salt. Cursing, he set aside the coffee cups. 

“Maggie, dear…” Phillip touched his wife’s arm. “Maybe we should listen.”

Mrs. Pines rubbed her temples. “I don’t believe this, I really don’t.”

“I know it’s hard, honey, but…” Mr. Pines gnawed on his bottom lip. “I do… remember something strange from Gravity Falls. I don’t know how I had forgotten… I just passed it off as my imagination, but….”

Mrs. Pines cast him a long, pleading look. “Phil, please… you better not be lying. Because our son has been missing all night, and I’m worried sick over him, and I just – I don’t want to hear about this.”

“Mom…” Mabel broke in. “Please… It’s real. It’s all real. Everything Stan’s been saying. Dipper’s been _studying_ it all summer. He’s been obsessed with it! You know how he gets. It was like a whole new nerdy world for him.”

Very slowly Mrs. Pines sank back into her chair. Her grey eyes looked worn, weary, but apprehensive, like a cornered animal at the edge of exhaustion. Her voice shook when she spoke, “you can’t be serious. This is – this is impossible, ridiculous. You’re trying to tell me all the made-up fantasy creatures and things…. Are all real?”

“We do have proof…” Mabel’s pleading eyes latched onto Stan. “Ford and Dipper….”

Stan grunted and averted his eyes. Dipper wasn’t much of an argument – he didn’t even recognize himself half the time. And Ford… How do you even approach your relatives to say that a family member essentially came back from the dead?

At the same time… They didn’t have hours to waste convincing Phillip and Maggie that the supernatural was real. In a way, meeting Ford and Dipper would at least be some form of proof, right before their eyes. It was an abrupt and clumsy introduction to the crazy world of Gravity Falls, but maybe the fastest way to make them understand what had happened.

“Look, I hate to do this, but you’re his parents, so… guess I gotta do what I gotta do. Let’s meet your son.”

“He’s been here, all along?” Mrs. Pines said swiftly. 

Stan didn’t answer. He shuffled with them back into the Gift Shop and opened the vending machine – Mr. Pines found this mechanism “most ingenious,” and fawned over the entire secret passageway and elevator. Wendy’s worried eyes followed the Pines family as they descended into darkness. Mrs. Pines, meanwhile, was pouty and unamused, but the worry was evident in the lines along her face. 

The elevator ride was silent – Stan didn’t know what to say to prepare them. What could be said? Could anything prepare a parent for what had happened to Dipper? If he explained prior to them seeing him, would they even believe him?

Mabel clung to her father’s shirt, uneasy and full of doubt. 

At last the elevator door opened. Inside, Ford stood close to the binding circle, caught up in a murmured discussion with Bill. Hearing the clatter of shoes on stone, Ford stepped away from the circle and folded his hands neatly behind his back. Bill’s eye curved to meet the guests. 

Upon entering, Mr. and Mrs. Pines weren’t sure whether to keep their eyes on this man who most bizarrely resembled Mr. Pines’ uncle, or on the absolutely otherworldly triangular creature floating in the center of the room. 

Ford handled it all in stride. He stepped up to the Pines parents and clasped his large hand around theirs in greeting. Both jumped a little at the sixth finger.

“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Pines,” he said. “This is my private study – I assume Stan told you I investigate and document the paranormal?”

“I’m sorry, I’m confused,” Mrs. Pines said. She leaned closer to Ford. “Dipper? Is that you? I-Is that what Stanford meant by supernatural?”

Ford’s brows shot up straight into his hairline. “Dipper? Me? No, I’m but a scientist exploring the supernatural in this town. You can call me Ford.”

Mabel and Stan exchanged glances. 

“As in ‘Stanford?’” Mr. Pines inquired, while Mrs. Pines directed her attention to the floating triangle. 

“And what is _that_?” she demanded.

“Bill,” Ford said sharply, not to the Pines, but to Bill himself, whose eye was sparking with a glint of mischief. Naturally, Bill ignored him.

“Heya folks!” Pulling his cane from thin air, Bill swung it cheerfully and glowed a bright yellow. “Let’s see, how about – Chubby and Snooty? Hah! Just kidding, I know you’re Phillip Pines and Margaret Pines. Wow, it’s like a family reunion!”

“Dipper,” Mabel whined. Not again…

“I’m sorry, is that triangle _speaking_?” A hand fluttered over Mrs. Pines’ heart.

“I can dance too!” This said, Bill broke into an enthusiastic tap dance.

Ford rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Bill, please-“

“Please keep dancing?” Bill exclaimed. “Sure, Sixer, I can do that!”

“This isn’t funny,” Mrs. Pines snapped. “None of this answers where my son is! Or why there’s a strange triangle here, or why there’s an unknown man in your basement, Stanford! What kind of madhouse do you run!?”

“Your son?” Bill’s cane disappeared. He floated to the very edge of the binding circle, and his eye was so solemn that Mabel’s heart leapt, hoping he’d remembered his own identity. Then he said, “Well, if you’d be willing to settle for a deal, then I’d sure tell you where he is.”

“Dipper!” Mabel yelled, clenching her fists. “Stop acting like him!”

“No deals,” Ford said firmly. He met Stan’s eyes for a brief moment, and the two shared deep, uneasy looks. This situation was beyond either of their abilities to describe – much less to Dipper’s parents. 

Luckily, Mabel had words where they did not. She skirted around Ford and reached across the binding circle. Her hand clasped Bill’s – whether out of shock or bemusement, Bill did not pull away. 

Mabel twisted around to face her parents, hand in hand with Bill, each on their respective side of the circle’s border. “Mom, dad… this is Dipper. I told you he studied the supernatural. He… _we_ … came across this demon named Bill. We tried to get rid of him, but it backfires, and their minds are sort of merging in a way. And he needs our help.”

“Mabel,” Ford warned.

She continued, faster now, “please, mom, dad – I know he doesn’t look like himself, but he’s just really confused, and if we all stand by him and let him know we still love him, then I know he’ll get it figured out-“

Bill was silent.

Mrs. Pines looked to Stan. “You can’t possibly be agreeing with this…”

“It sounds hard to believe,” admitted Stan weakly. “But I saw it all with my own eyes.”

“So... you’re saying… that _thing_ … is my son?” Mrs. Pines affirmed, disbelief evident in her expression.

“The phenomenon is a transanimation of sorts,” Ford input, “that is, Bill’s ‘soul’ transferring into Dipper’s body. His current form reflects the confliction between their souls.”

“And… and this Bill, he’s a demon?”

“Dream demon,” Ford confirmed.

But Mrs. Pines was shaking her head back and forth, eyes widened in disbelief. Even her husband, who previously had listened to their explanations with an open mind, now seemed to be looking truly nervous. “You’re insane,” Mrs. Pines breathed. “Both of you. You’ve done god knows what to my son, and now-“

Mabel cut in, “No, mom, he’s telling the truth. You have to believe him!” Spinning on her heel, she gazed up at Dipper, squeezing his hand. “Dipper, tell them… I know you can. Dipper, please…” And for one moment, gazing up into his eye, Mabel saw her brother looking back at her. His pupil dilated. He dropped a few inches to reach her level. 

“Mabel,” he said, and he didn’t sound like Bill anymore. He squeezed her hand back.

But Maggie Pines had had enough. She had arrived at the Shack expecting to chew Stanford out for negligence, only for that conman to invent horrible excuses that revolved around the supernatural… and then to lead her and her husband into the basement of his madhouse to introduce some monster as their son. Her ability to tolerate the situation had long ago reached its limit. Seething, Maggie grabbed Mabel’s arm, hauling her away from the circle.

Dipper frantically followed her retreat with his single eye. “Mabel, Mabel-“

Mrs. Pines’ cold eyes met with Stan’s. “We’re leaving. I don’t want my children staying at a place like this anymore. I always knew you were a no-good con, but I never imagined you would put the safety of my children at risk.”

Stan slunk back silently, guilty enough in his own right to hold his tongue.

“Mom, no please – he’s telling the truth!” Mabel protested.

“And you,” Mrs. Pines directed at Mabel, “Shame on you for believing his fairy tales, and mistaking that thing for your brother. What’s gotten into you?”

She yanked Mabel back into the elevator, followed shortly by a timid Phillip. “Stanford Pines, there _will_ be consequences for your actions.”

The elevator shut and severed the gaze between Mabel and Dipper. The last thing she saw was his single eye, wide and frightened.

 

 

For a while, it was chaos in the basement. Ford yelled at Dipper, and then Stan yelled at Ford, and then they both went quiet. The silence was worse. The very air between Dipper’s great uncles simmered with guilt, with fear, with distance. It made the room stifling, as if the confines of his circle were not already bad enough, as if his own guilt was not bad enough. Maybe if he had acted more like himself, then his parents would have believed what Ford and Stan were telling him. 

Maybe he wouldn’t be breaking apart this family.

But he couldn’t dwell on that. He had to fix everything. Now, he felt more like himself than ever – one hundred percent Dipper. Not a bit like Bill! So he had to show his family, he had to prove himself, so they would believe him and let him stay at the Shack again with the Stans and Mabel.

But the only way to talk to Mabel or his parents was to escape the circle.

Luckily, Ford had not considered all of his powers. Particularly, the power of a demonic contract.

As soon as the house was silent, and the basement dark, Dipper snapped his fingers.

A very startled Gideon wearing lamb pajamas plopped, affronted, onto the middle of the basement floor. The widdle ten year old squeaked and thrashed before clambering to his feet.

“You! But – how – I –“ Gideon swung his gaze around at the room. Very slowly, the lingering sleep cleared from his steadily narrowing eyes. “Bill Ciphah.”

“Dipper Pines,” Dipper corrected. “It’s time you paid up on that _fav́o̸r_ , Gideon.”

But Gideon wasn’t to be intimidated. His inspection swept over the circle in which Dipper was trapped, and a coy smile curved at his lips. “Dipper Pines, hmm? Last Ah remember, you left widdle ol’ me all alone in the woods.”

“That doesn’t matter right now, Gideon! All I need is for you to break the circle I’m in.”

“Ah don’t think so,” Gideon chuckled. “You broke our contract, which means _Ah_ get your precious peach dumplin’ of a sistah, and _you_ rot in this circle.”

All the gold of Dipper’s body bled into crimson. He clenched his fists. “You don’t have a choice, Pentagram. I got you out of jail. I fulfilled my side of the contract. Now you fulfill yours!”

Gideon crossed his arms smugly. “And what if Ah don’t?”

Dipper hated to go to such extents, he really did, but he needed out of this circle – and at the moment, Gideon was his only way out. So like it or not, Gideon was going to get him out. Still burning red, Dipper snapped his fingers – the power of the contract overrode the power of the binding circle. 

Across the room, Gideon’s eyes glowed blue. His stubby legs jerkily propelled him forward, even while protests and panicked sounds emerged from his throat. 

“Stop; you stop this now, boy!” he choked out. Any confidence has been stripped away, replaced by fear. It really was no wonder, either, since for all his bravado, Gideon still was nothing but a ten year old kid.

“I wouldn’t have had to force you if you just did it on your own,” Dipper retorted, annoyed. Gideon really was such a dumb, stubborn mortal. It was almost offensive that Dipper had to resort to using him as an escape. 

Under Dipper’s control, Gideon slammed to his knees beside the circle. His trembling hand swiped out and rubbed a line through the chalk. 

Dipper let out an exaggerated sigh as he felt the magical binds fell away. “Whoo, yeesh! Now I finally feel like myself again!”

Gideon, with command of his body returned to him, skittered away, clutching his hand to his chest as if it alone had betrayed him and he did not trust it. “Y-you, you possessed me!”

“No,” Dipper said, annoyed. “I manually controlled your muscles. There’s a difference.”

Stretching out his arms in relief at his freedom, Dipper entertained the thought of killing Gideon, just because he had been so defiant. But he could be useful later, and people weren’t much fun if they were dead. Anyhow, Dipper had a lot more important things to attend to – so he simply snapped his fingers and Gideon was gone.

Well, teleported, more like. Teleported into the Gravity Falls pool, but hey, at least he was alive!

Sniggering, Dipper was a second away from teleporting out of the Shack himself – 

When his eye fell upon a stack of papers on Ford’s desk. 

But those looked like…

Hypnotized, Dipper drifted towards the desk.

The pages crinkled beneath his fingertips.

His eye widened by tiny fractions. These pages… they were the very ones that Ford had torn from the journal. The very pages containing the information about himself that Ford would not explain.

If he read them…

But no… he shouldn’t. He was sure Ford had kept this secret for a reason. That Ford only had Dipper’s best interests at heart. That maybe this really wasn’t for him to see.

But then memories of betrayal burst fresh as fire in his mind. 

It was Ford who convinced Mabel to lure him into the binding circle. It was Ford who had done this to him in the first place. Dipper’s fist clenched, and he hesitated no more. He picked up the pages, and began to read. 

Ford listed his powers here, as expected, and then long descriptions about the physical changes – here his writing switched briefly into Latin, which Dipper translated with ease. 

_The effects appear nearly identical to past cases. Samuel Ruiz in Vermont confirmed his brother’s case and comparable instances –_

Dipper’s eyes skipped to the next page. This was a catalogue of people. Of names.

Names….

_Mark Ruiz, Joshua Samburt, Bethany Westergard, Brandi Reed…_

Slowly, Dipper tilted his head to the side. 

He knew those names.

Mark Ruiz. Skinny, dark haired, large eyes, fear. 

Bethany Westergard, tough, piercing green eyes, calloused fingers. 

He knew every single one of these people. No… not just that…

Every single one of these names had summoned him. Tried to banish him. And then…

And then…

The pages fell out of Dipper’s hands. Their sheaves whispered against the floor. Dipper did not breathe. This was the explanation. The great, big secret that Ford had been keeping from him. 

His actual identity. 

Because this was an abbreviated list of people whose minds he had overtaken in a bid to survive another hundred or so years. His current confusion, uncertainty – it had all happened before. And it would happen again. It would always happen. Over and over. Because that was how it went. That was how he survived. By using the very ritual meant to destroy him as a means to continue surviving.

And he wasn’t Dipper. He had never _been_ Dipper. Just like he had never truly been Mark, or Bethany. He was Bill, had always been Bill, would always _be_ Bill. And the confusion of his emotions and feelings – those were just the lingering remnants of a dead kid’s brain. Soon enough, he’d shed those - just like he’d shed every other pitiful mortal’s mind. 

Bill spread his fingers before his eye. All his human feelings came from the husk of the soul whose body he had inhabited. 

A faint laugh burst out from his body.

Wow, was he dumb! Every time he resurrected, he did, for a time, believe himself to be the human he used as a host. Because those human brains – they really were so rich with emotions! Emotions so strong that he had for many weeks now believed them to be his, and to be real. 

Because, that’s how it always went! These moments were Bill’s time to pretend like a cute little human. To feel the things they did; their fears, hopes, dreams. It was his fun little sampling of the lavishness of human emotion! And wow, it was so vivid! So vivid that he’d really, really believed himself to be Pine Tree! 

How hilarious was that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quoteth Filch: "Ohh dear, we are in trouble."


	14. The End

Mabel would begin her first day of high school without Dipper at her side. 

She would graduate in the same fashion, but she hadn’t known that from the start. No sibling knows that they may one day have to face something new and terrifying entirely on their own. 

For three days, Mr. and Mrs. Pines stayed in Gravity Falls, searching. As those days passed, Maggie became more fretful and frantic. She hardly slept, barely ate, and a suspicion developed in her mind that Stanley had had some deliberate work in the disappearance of her son. Likewise, Phillip himself was reserved and ashen-looking. 

Together they forbade Mabel from visiting or contacting Stan. Normally, Mabel wouldn’t have cared much for obeying that kind of rule - but Mr. and Mrs. Pines had officers crawling all over the Mystery Shack in an attempt to find foul play. Mabel worried that if she tried to visit Stan, she might in some way accidentally incriminate him further. 

But with no leads whatsoever, and Dipper’s affinity to wander off on his own, Durland and Blubs seemed eager to declare the case closed. Mabel overheard Maggie yelling on the phone to get some state officers down to Gravity Falls, but if her protests were anything to go by, they didn’t feel as though this particular case took priority. 

It became exceedingly clear there was nothing more Maggie and Phillip could do in Gravity Falls.

When they decided it was best to return to Piedmont, Mabel hissed, spit, and threw a fit the likes of which they had never seen from her.

“He’s locked up in the Shack, dad! I’m not leaving without him! Why won’t you listen to me; Dipper’s a dream demon, but if we just-“

“Your brother is _not_ a demon, Mabel Margaret Pines,” her father retorted sternly. Rare it was that Phillip Pines ever showed anger, but Mabel’s insistence of things like this really snapped his waning patience. 

“He needs our help-“ protested Mabel. 

“Drop this ridiculous idea that conman put in your head-“ Maggie broke in, lips pressed in a tight line.

“STAN IS A GREAT GRUNKLE-!”

“You want to remember your brother in such a horrible way-?” Phillip demanded.

“He’s _not_ dead!”

This was the point where Maggie burst into tears and left the room, ending the argument with one last glare from Phillip. 

Later, he knelt down beside Mabel and apologizing, said, “we know it’s hard, but we have to keep moving forward. I understand you miss your brother. We all miss him, so much.”

Mabel’s heart burned. She wanted to yell that Dipper wasn’t gone, that he was right in this very town. Phillip wouldn’t have listened. 

Mabel didn’t want to go back to Piedmont. But she was twelve years old, and kids of that age have very little control over where adults wish to lead them - even if the children are wiser about where they ought to be. 

Back to Piedmont it was. 

Mr. and Mrs. Pines filed a lawsuit against Stanley (under the name Stanford) for child neglect and abuse. They had lost their son, and to their eyes, Stanley had no good explanation as to why. They wanted justice, punishment. They wanted to see him behind bars for good.

For several days, Mabel received no further news about the matter from her parents, as they were unwilling to divulge anything and were reluctant to discuss the topic at all. 

The whole ordeal was stifling, even for someone like Mabel, and she was unbelievably relieved when her parents finally left her alone at the house for an hour or two while her father was at work, and her mother shopping. 

She bolted for the phone, dialed rapidly, and - 

“Grunkle Stan!” she squealed so loudly into the phone that she could just imagine Stan holding the phone away from his ear. Then the screamy dulcet tones of Mabel’s voice rang some recognition into his mind. 

“Mabel!? Pumpkin, how are you holding up?” he shouted back nearly as loud.

“Me? Don’t worry about me! Stan, how’s Dipper doing? How are you doing? How is Ford doing? How’s-”

“Whoa whoa kid, one question at a time.”

“Mom’s out getting groceries,” Mabel said rapidly into the phone. “Quick, how’s Dipper?”

There was a pause. Then, “sweetie, Dipper’s gone. The morning after you left, the circle was broken. We haven’t seen him.”

“Gone….? But….” Mabel’s brow furrowed. “He hasn’t visited me….”

“Kid, we don’t know what’s going on his head. Maybe it’s best he’s laying low. Your parents would be on my back if you started talking to thin air.”

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Staaa-an. I’d be sneakier than that; I’d be like a rainbow Mabel ninja.” Then she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “My parents aren’t making too much trouble for you, are they?”

“Bah, it’s nothin’! Lawsuit’s goin’ in my favor, but they did get a warrant.” Stan let out an awkward cough. “Turned up a lot of tax fraud, pug smuggling, and that time I impersonated a Velociraptor. Hey, who knew that was illegal? I didn’t!”

Mabel giggled. 

“Anyway, don’t you worry about me,” Stan told her firmly. 

“I miss you,” Mabel said. “I miss Gravity Falls. High school starts in a week, Stan; I don’t think it’s gonna be like how I thought, not without Dipper.”

“Aw, sweetie. I miss the heck outta you too. But you gotta keep your spirits up. Everything will get itself worked out. I know y-“

Suddenly there was a lot of loud thumps from the other end, and then abruptly another voice came on the line. 

“Mabel!”

“Wendy?”

“Yeah, man! How’s it hanging?”

“Gimme back that phone!” Stan’s gruff voice yelled in the background. 

“Too slow!” Wendy said teasingly, followed by giggles and the sound of footsteps. 

Mabel quirked a brow. “Wendy, what are you doing?”

“Hey, Stan was hogging the thing all to himself. I told him it was my turn.”

“I’ll fire you!” Stan yelled. 

“How’s Piedmont?” Wendy asked, while Stan swore in the background. 

Mabel’s giggles dwindled into nothing. “It’s been awful, Wendy. My room is too quiet and weird at night, and it feels terrible without Dip’s math stuff all over the floor. I miss Gravity Falls.”

“Don’t let it get to ya, Mabel. Maybe you can move up here once you’re outta high school?”

Mabel quirked an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to get out of town.”

“Gravity Falls is one of those places you always come back to,” Wendy said cryptically. “Anyway, Mabel, try to wrangle your brother back if you come, yeah?”

Mabel nodded firmly. “Yeah! And how’s Ford? And Soos?”

“’Bout the same,” Wendy admitted, “Ford’s been blaming himself a lot it seems like. Soos is hanging in there, though – apparently the guy just won a good two hundred dollars from hamster racing… Stan’s trying to con him out of it.”

“Stan, shame on you!” Mabel yelled through the receiver. 

In the background, Stan shouted back, “He wants to spend it on gummy bears. Nobody needs that many gummy bears!!”

“Everybody needs that many gummy bears,” Mabel said solemnly. 

Wendy snorted. 

“So…” Mabel twisted her hair in her finger worriedly. “Stan said Dipper was gone…”

Wendy went quiet. “Yeah. We haven’t seen him around, Mabel…. But maybe-”

“Wait!” Mabel gripped the phone tightly and listened. 

Sure enough, she caught the tell-tale sound of the garage door opening, signaling her mother had returned from grocery shopping. 

“Whoops, gotta go, talk to you later, bye!” Mabel slammed down the phone just as the back door opened.

“Hi-mom-need-any-help-?” Mabel rattled off quickly, filled with a tingly elicit feeling of having done something she really wasn’t supposed to.

Her mom offered her only a tired quirk of her brow before accepting Mabel’s help carrying in the groceries. Those tired looks had become commonplace after returning to Piedmont, and they always made Mabel’s heart sink. 

The whole home environment had become entirely dreary and toxic, which… Mabel understood, she really did. She wasn’t feeling too great about the whole situation with Dipper either. But having some hope that she could bring him back somehow would do wonders to making her feel better. But her parents believing outright that he was dead….

Well, it didn’t make Mabel feel much like herself. 

Days passed, and there was neither hind nor hair of Dipper; worry began to take root deep in Mabel’s mind; a strange, discomforting worry, that maybe what her parents believed was true. 

Maybe he really was gone for good. 

Then finally, the night before the first day of high school, Mabel met Dipper again. Or at least, what he had become. 

He approached her in a dream – which, given his identity troubles, did make a lot of sense. 

She had fallen asleep distressed and disheartened, and so her dream began in a dreary version of Gravity Falls, where all the warm bright colors were dull and grim. 

She wandered the forest, quite lost, because she was wandering without her brother, and without him, she was lost.

“Dipper? Dipper!?” She shouted out in the silent woods. “Dipper, get your dumb butt back here!”

But no voice answered her. Just as dread and fear began to sink in her heart, she glimpsed a strange wooden structure amongst the trees. 

Mabel knew instantly what it was, and she skipped her way towards the attic bedroom of the Mystery Shack, inexplicably detached from any other part of the Shack, and settled neatly in the middle of the woods. Mabel didn’t find anything odd about this – possibly because she was in a dream, but more likely because she was Mabel.

She happily rushed up to her bedroom and flung open the door. Of course, Dipper was fast asleep in his bed, buried beneath blankets. A wide grin leapt to Mabel’s cheeks. 

“Wakey wakey brother-bakey!” she shouted, because the ritual had never happened and everything was okay. 

Dipper was motionless under the covers, and Mabel rolled her eyes, hopping over to his bed. “You sleepy head!” she chastised, and leapt onto the Dipper-shaped lump buried under the covers. 

But air rushed out from the under the blankets; Mabel’s stomach swooped as the bed frame cracked beneath her and she found herself plummeting down a dark chasm; her hands flailed through the air as she tried to find something to cling to, but it was just like the bottomless pit all over again – endless falling, endless darkness. 

Then she stopped, suspended in midair. 

A single yellow eye, as large as her body, gazed out at her from the darkness. 

A distorted voice rang in her ears – _“You’re too late; your brother is gone. I devoured his soul.”_

“Bill?” she said incredulously. 

Then her feet struck the ground, she stumbled, her eyes snapping open.

“You dream about me!” a high-pitched voice squealed from behind her as the world leeched into grey. “Oho! That wasn’t even my creation! Look at you; you could be a real dream-weaver yourself, Star.”

She spun around and was eye to eye with Bill Cipher. Not any illusion of him, or any dream-creation of him – but actual, triangular Bill Cipher. There was no dread – only a rushing hope. “Dipper,” she breathed.

Dipper wearing Bill’s appearance, at least. And his eye glinted cheerfully, and he swung his cane so exuberantly that Mabel side-stepped to avoid being decked in the face. 

“Well, yeesh, if that’s what you wanna call me!” he said, and there was no trace of Dipper’s voice there.

“Dipper, you gotta come home.” Mabel reached out as if to grab his hands; this time, he pulled away and drifted out of her reach. 

“I always knew you had a good sense of humor, Star,” Bill said wryly. “But your poor brother got voted off the island! So to speak…”

Dread sunk in her heart. _No, no, no…_. “I don’t believe you,” she huffed. “Change back, Dipper. You have to come home. It’s awful without you.”

“Aw,” Bill crossed his arms behind his back. “That’s real sweet, kid, but I’m not sure there’s much I can do for ya.”

Mabel tilted her chin up defiantly. “Oh yeah? Well, only my brother would come and visit me like you are. Bill would never do that.”

“Oh!” Bill sparked a sudden bright white and a light bulb appeared over his head before shattering. “Reminds me why I’m here! I only came for one reason, Star, and you should feel pretty lucky! Most people aren’t worth stoppin’ by unless they’ve got a deal for me. Hold on.” Squinting his eye in concentration, Bill stuck out his hand and rummaged around in the air as if searching for an object. “Aha, right here!” He pulled back his hand, and suddenly he had something snared in his fingers…

The chain to a beautiful silvery blue cage, in which was held…

Mabel’s breath left her lungs.

She didn’t need Bill to tell her what it was. Somehow she knew the moment of beholding it. This was the part of her that was immortal. The ethereal flame dancing behind bars was her soul. 

_Of course… Dipper had taken it weeks ago… But why is he showing it to me now…?_

“Recognize it?” Bill swung it tauntingly back and forth. “Most mortals know the look of their soul on sight. Pretty wacky, huh?”

Mabel suspected Dipper’s – Bill’s – actions were meant to make her uneasy. Instead, she couldn’t help but realize something else… 

“You’ve been keeping it safe,” Mabel breathed. “This whole time. Even through all your weird personality changes.”

Bill sniffed. “Yeesh, don’t get all emotional on me. I just think you’re funny, Mabel Pines, so I was being nice.” He cringed at her smile. “Ugh, human emotions. Look, I’m not your brother. Here, you want your soul back? Free of charge, too!” His fingers brushed the clasp of the silvery cage. 

“Wait!” Mabel launched forward and slammed her hand over the latch.

“Eh?” 

“You can keep it,” Mabel said, all in a rush. Her heart shivered in her chest because she wasn’t sure this was the right decision. People probably shouldn’t feel really comfortable letting a demon take care of their immortal soul. 

Bill shimmered a surprised white before deepening to gold again. “Wow, mortals really are crazy!”

“You’ll probably keep it safer than me!”

Bill snorted. “Stupid human – mortals can’t damage their souls unless they give ‘em over to a demon.”

“Well then, you’ll keep it safe from other demons,” Mabel nodded, now absolutely convinced. 

Bill rolled his eye. With a snap of his fingers, the cage and Mabel’s soul disappeared. “All right, Shooting Star, but it’s your loss when I eat it in a century or two!”

“Oh no, you won’t,” Mabel said sternly. “Or I’ll haunt you for all eternity! With glitter!”

“Whoa, whoa, Star! No need to bring out the big guns! Hey – you’ve been pretty entertaining, so I’ll at least give ya something. Here, have a cassette filled with the sound of human vocal contractions!”

Another finger snap, and a cassette tape dropped into her hands. She turned it over to see BABBA scrawled in pink writing on the front. 

Her smile flickered. 

“Chin up, kid!” Rising higher in the air, Bill spread his arms and his circle appeared around him. 

Mabel clenched her hands around the cassette and looked up worriedly. “Wait, you’re leaving?”

“Sure kid; I got places to go, people to see, babies to torture – things like that.”

“Will I see you again?”

“You never know! When the apocalypse comes and the ground is turned to sky – maybe I’ll let you live, Shooting Star!”

In a flash, he was gone. 

For a long time after, Mabel gazed at the tape in her hand. In some way she knew things weren’t all right. That she was lost, and her parents were lost, and everything ahead of her was scary and new.

But…

Something told her that hope itself wasn’t lost. 

Anyway… she had to stick around to stop that apocalypse Bill warned about, didn’t she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may not be the most satisfying ending that everyone, including me, hoped for; I feel it was a bit clumsy and not well explained – likely since I was only able to write it in little bits at a time, often on the train to and from work. But, better to be finished than not at all…. I was only able to wrap it up today as I took off from work. The ending can have multiple interpretations, I suppose… not the least that I have an idea for a sequel, shit…. Haha, maybe in a few months, maybe never x] 
> 
> Ohh, and I’ve recently learned about Over the Garden Wall, and the theory of “he who kills the Beast, becomes the Beast.” It somewhat goes without saying that I freakin’ love this idea, and I love the comparisons of Wirt and the Beast with Dipper and Bill (in general, and in Resurrection).
> 
> Thank you all for reading and reviewing – and feel free to PM if you have any questions. Hope you enjoyed the ride!


End file.
